


Never Rock With Live Dragons: The Metal Band AU

by teaDragon



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo has to cross examine Smaug, Crack, Epic Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, HRBB14, Metal Band AU, Metal Band!Company, Modern Middle Earth, Smaug is a shapeshifting vocalist, basically everyone's in this fic, ish, lawyer!Bilbo, musical attacks, power of rock, prompt from hobbitingaround, taken seriously, the dwarves want their glory back, traveling around in a Van
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/pseuds/teaDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is the lead vocalist in the dwarven metal band 'The Company', disgraced and framed by the shapeshifting dragon vocalist Smaug. Taking the rock wizard Gandalf's advice, if they're going to get back at Smaug and take back their long lost glory (and Erebor, the most rockin' music and recording company in all of Middle Earth), they're going to need a lawyer.</p><p>Bilbo Baggins however, a perfectly respectable hobbit lawyer, and has no interest in metal or any such nonsense. Never mind his rebellious metal phase he went through as a tween! He is <em>not</em> interested in being crammed into an old van with <em>too many</em> dwarves and a rock wizard, and driven clear across the map to cross examine a dragon and trick him into confessing!</p><p>Unfortunately, no one seems to believe him when he says this...</p><p>For hobbitingaround's Metal Band AU prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [hobbitingaround](http://hobbitingaround.tumblr.com/), for helping me brainstorm and figure out all the odds and ends of this AU. We had a lot of fun working on this, and we hope you have fun reading it!
> 
>  
> 
> Check out the original prompt and artwork [here](http://hobbitingaround.tumblr.com/post/95732845536/some-drafts-of-my-first-prompt-for-the-hobbit). And go check out the rest of her stuff, she's awesome! :D

It was a dark and stormy night that brought an old, beat up fiat pulling into the parking lot of the _Prancing Pony._ A figured climbed out, turning up the collar of his fur-lined leather jacket and slamming the door shut behind him. Sharp eyes glared out into the rain at the seedy town, sliding over the cheep Diner across the street and the few people scattered here and there caught out in the rain.

He stomped his way up to the front of the Pub, the bright, fluorescent sign of the trademark Pony reflected in the many puddles on the dark tarmac. Glancing over his shoulder he pulled open the door, stepping out of the rain and into the warmth of the dimly lit building.

Choosing a table near the back, he slid into his chair and grabbed up a menu. He stared at it moodily, scowling at the bright and cheerful images looking back up at him.

The best thing about _The Prancing Pony_ was 24 hour service and all day breakfast. Eggs and ham it was, he decided. Along with the thickest, blackest coffee they could scour off the bottom of the pot.

“Might I join you?”

He slowly lowered the menu to fix his gaze on the old man that had just taken the seat across from him. He appeared harmless, smiling kindly and folding his hands. But he knew better.

“You can drop the act, Gandalf. I know who you are.”

Those eyes twinkled at him, “I can say the same, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“What do you want, wizard?” asked the dwarf warily.

Gandalf reached into his robes and pulled out a pipe, “How would you like bring _Oakenshield_ back?” he said after a time, taking a long draw on his pipe. “Reclaim your place at the top? Take back that which was stolen from you?”

“You think I want to be here, skulking around in some dingy Pub, dishonored and wronged?” growled Thorin, hands clenching. “Do you think I chose to have that damn dragon steal our music and claim it as his own, making us out to be no better than thieves?”

“There is a way to defeat Smaug, Thorin Oakenshield, I would not come to you otherwise.”

“What way?” the dwarf asked bitterly, “Smaug is not simply a vocalist: he’s a shape shifter. Even without the power of the Arkenstone he could incinerate us all in an instant! It’s suicide.”

The wizard’s eyes twinkled, “Not, if you have a plan.”

“What plan? There is nothing that can defeat that slug so long as he holds the stone. Not even the most legendary of warriors could be of use.”

“You will not go in there, guitars blaring, to take him down,” said Gandalf pointedly, ignoring the dark look sent his way by his companion. “You do not need a warrior for this quest to succeed.”

Thorin scoffed. “An army of warriors then? Do you happen to have one at your disposal?” He said sarcastically, sending an annoyed glare at the old man.

“What you need,” continued Gandalf, “Is a _lawyer_.”

 

 

-[]-

Bilbo Baggins was a perfectly respectable hobbit. Just ask anyone. His feet were always neatly groomed, he wore sensible and respectable clothes, and he always arrived right on time to his little office in the Hobbiton law firm. He had never done anything even remotely rebellious or adventurous in all fifty of his years (tweenhood aside) and was an all around polite if not somewhat stuffy individual.

Mr. Baggins spent his days dealing with property disputes and charges of petty theft, for the Shire rarely saw much violent or organized crime, hobbits being as a rule considered somewhat dull by the other races. Occasionally rowdy tweens would get up to some mischief or other, but it was all cleared up rather quickly and without too much fuss.

Bilbo’s crowning achievement in his law career (which would cause him to swell up with pride should anyone ask about it or bring it up), was his proving the forgery of the deceased Peony Proudfoot’s will, and the subsequent theft of a priceless family heirloom, an old tea-set, decorated with _real_ moonstones.

Yes, it was all terribly shocking. But Hobbiton would eventually recover from such a scandal.

Perhaps it doesn’t seem particularly exciting, but that was just how Bilbo Baggins liked it, he could assure you. He was just what you would expect in a Baggins and just what you would want in a hobbit lawyer.

And if he ever felt his days were lacking something he could not quite explain, well. It was a respectable life and practical one, and there was great pride to be found in that.

On this particular Wednesday, just like any other Wednesday or work day at all in his little office, our hobbit was sitting at his desk and enjoying his ten-fifteen in the morning cup of tea, when the door banged open loudly, startling the hobbit so badly that he spilled tea all over his favourite burgundy suit jacket.

It was an old man, striding into his office as if he owned the place. And what a peculiar looking man he was! Tall with a long white beard and dressed in grey, he had a pointy hat and a staff, but perhaps what affronted Bilbo most was that he was wearing sunglasses. Sunglasses! Inside a building. Goodness.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Boomed the man cheerfully, inviting himself to sit down in front of the hobbit’s desk

“I-I beg your pardon!?” spluttered the flustered hobbit, being entirely caught off guard by the intrusion on his tea-time.

“Aren’t you going to wish me a good morning?” asked the man, eyes twinkling merrily.

“A-a good morning?” spluttered the hobbit, fumbling with his now empty tea cup and rising to his feet, “You just burst through my door and into my office, when I very clearly have a sign on my door stating I am _not to be bothered_ until half past ten, make me spill my nice second breakfast tea all over my nice jacket, and then expect me to say ‘good morning’?”

“It would be polite,” the man admonished with a smile.

Bilbo groaned in exasperation and took a deep breath, trying his very hardest not to glare at the man. “Well, _good morning_ , then,” he said, only a bit stiffly, to his credit. The man regarded him steadily.

“And what do you mean?”

Bilbo blinked. “I—beg your pardon?”

“Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good on this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

The hobbit stood there with his mouth open for a moment before he got his bearings. He was, after all, a lawyer, and not unused to cross examinations and the like. Though typically they presented themselves in an orderly fashion and did not burst through his door in the middle of his tea break! “I simply mean it as a convention,” he said cautiously, “As you kept reminding me, it is a polite greeting used to convey good will.”

“And what of the rest of the meanings?”

“I don’t really suppose it is a good morning anymore, at this rate,” he grumbled moodily, sinking back into his seat.

The man laughed, his eyes twinkling “My good hobbit, we’ve only just said good morning. I haven’t even told you the reason for my being here, don’t go writing the whole day off yet.”

When the hobbit could only gape up at the old man helplessly, he decided to take pity on the flustered hobbit. “I am looking for someone who is interested in _metal_.”

Bilbo’s mouth finally snapped shut. “You mean…the stuff they make toasters out of?

“I mean, the music genre.”

And just like that he was twenty-five again, jumping up and down on his bed, air guitar-ing along to the blaring music and belting out the lyrics horrendously off key—

Bilbo shook himself, clearing the image from his mind. “No, no, I’ve no interest in that,” he declared firmly, squashing the memories down. “It’s certainly not for respectable folk! Loud and blaring and uncouth, it’s just a bunch of people screaming and banging along on their electric guitars. I really can’t imagine the appeal.”

“I seem to recall a young hobbit who held a certain fondness for it, don’t you?”

Bilbo coughed uncomfortably as he felt his ears heat up in embarrassment. “Ahh... I suppose we all go through odd phases in our youth, don’t we?” He frowned suddenly, “Now why would you know that?”

“Half a moment, you can’t just walk in here and ask me if I like metal or not!” cried Bilbo. “That’s harassment! I wasn’t informed of your arrival by my secretary and I certainly don’t have you penned down for an appointment, so it very well may be breaking and entering as well! I don’t even know who you are!”

“Ah, but you do. Perhaps you’ve forgotten? I am _Gandalf_. And Gandalf—“

“— _means me!_ ” Bilbo finished in a rush, eyes lighting up. “Goodness, you’re _The_ Rock Wizard Gandalf!? Oh, I used to sing that song all the time! The whole _Stormcrow_ album really, I just kept it on replay. Drove my poor father absolutely batty it did, but mother never seemed to mind, she was quite the fan herself.”

Gandalf chuckled at the hobbit’s sudden enthusiasm, “I’m glad you remember my album so well.”

“Oh yes, there was _Servant of Secret Fire_ , and _The White Council_ —wished I could’ve been at that concert, I think I must have sulked for a whole month—and of course all the _Eldar_ albums.”

“It used to be such fun—I-I mean…” he coughed uncomfortably again. He was not a tween anymore. He was a very much middle-aged and a very much respectable, sensible hobbit who certainly didn’t have anything to do with anything half so much excitable as _metal music_. He told Gandalf as much in his best business-like voice.

“What if it involved a case?” At Bilbo’s confused expression the wizard continued, “I am in need of a lawyer.”

“Goodness me, why didn’t you say so in the first place?! All this talk of metal for no reason,” Bilbo huffed and wagged his finger at the man. “I don’t much appreciate clients bursting through my door unexpectedly, you could have made an appointment at the desk.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I-It’s a case, it’s not supposed to be fun!” spluttered the hobbit, scandalized at the idea.

“Ah, but you see, this case is really more of an _adventure_ ," said Gandalf, eyes twinkling.

“Adventure,” repeated Bilbo numbly. He did not like the way the wizard looked at him when he said that word. Not at _all_. It was entirely too much of an invitation.

“This particular case requires someone who is both brave and cleaver,” Gandalf said, “And must be willing to put up with a great deal of noise, I should imagine,” the wizard finished with a chuckle, “Working with a real metal band and all.”

“And…ah,” began Bilbo, “You’ve come here to ask if I know anyone who would like the job?” The man smiled kindly down at the hobbit.

“I am asking if you would be interested.”

“No no no, _no!_ Dear me, but no!” Bilbo exclaimed, flailing his hands around for extra emphasis. “That was just a phase I had, a simple metal phase which is perfectly within reason for a tween. We do not want _any_ metal here! No bands, no electric guitars, and certainly no adventures involving any or all of the above. No, there will be no metal, no rock, nothing more rowdy than nice acoustic country or soft rock, thank you!”

Finishing his rather impressive rush Bilbo found himself quite out of breath and at the end of his emotional tolerance. Goodness. Rock wizards should come with a warning clearly stating they only be taken in small doses at a time—or never at all! If one did not wish to be flustered and befuddled beyond imagine!

“Now, good morning,” Bilbo said, nodding primly, the conversation quite finished as far as he was concerned.

“Yes,” Gandalf said slowly, smiling to himself, “I think it will be a good morning after all.” He reached over and plucked one of Bilbo’s business cards from where they were neatly displayed on his desk in a little box. “It will be just the thing for you.”

Bilbo froze, staring up at the wizard in shock. “N-Now hang on,” he began, “I haven’t agreed to anything yet!”

“Of course, we’ll write you up a contract later.”

“Contract?!”

“I’ll inform the others.”

“What others?! Gandalf, I am _not interested!_ ”

“I will be in touch. Expect me when you’re least expecting company!”

And with that, the old man left, having the gall to wink before slipping out the room. Poor Mr. Baggins was left standing in his little office, gaping dumbly at the closed door.

/>


	2. An Unexpected Metal Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After (hopefully) evading any offers of adventures or metal, Bilbo Baggins makes his way home determined to put all of that unpleasantness out of his mind. Good thing he has a nice quiet evening planned out, with absolutely no dwarves or rock wizards involved...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your enhanced listening experience, I'll post a link to any songs referenced in each chapter. Also, I highly recommend checking out hobbtingaround's [playlists for this fic](http://hobbitingaround.tumblr.com/post/105199976371/never-rock-with-live-dragons-aka-the-metal-band). They have album covers and everything!
> 
> [Blunt the Knives](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_JBHPFiFWRk). (Just imagine the metal in there)
> 
>  
> 
> [Misty Mountains Cold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9eNnmIam0uM)

The feeling of unease and apprehension brought about by the wizard’s alarming visit kept with Bilbo all through his day. His little office suddenly didn’t feel so very comfortable or secure at all, and he often caught himself eying his door uncomfortably, as if expecting another equally upsetting visitor to disturb his routine, or Valar forbid, the wizard himself to make a reappearance.

Speaking to Daisy Twofoot, his secretary, did little to settle his poor nerves. She was completely unaware of his ‘client’, had received no phone call or appointment before hand, and in fact had been completely unaware that any such man had come or go at all. 

A big person in Hobbiton would be hard to miss, for though they did get the odd dwarf or human passing through they certainly wouldn’t go about disrupting business of unsuspecting folk—unless you happened to be in a pub near the borders or an inn. The lawfirm was neither of these things.

Bilbo must have looked sufficiently unsettled for Daisy had suggested they go check the security cameras to see how this rock wizard had gotten in. Turns out he had, somehow, but to the shock of the security guard the wizard had apparently walked right in the main doorway, unnoticed by everyone, strolled right up to Mr. Baggins’ office and then left, attracting not so much as a second glance.

Poor Bilbo had to sit down for a minute while the cameras were checked and rechecked and the whole security staff began an organized panic—that such an alarming person could be so undetected— in their orderly and very important law firm, no less!

_I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me_

_I’ve traveled under mountains, through forest, over sea_

_Grey Pilgrim,_

_Through the dark and the night_

_Stormcrow,_

_Never give up the fight_

He rubbed a hand across his eyes. Even now he could still remember that album if he were to really think about it. Those lines bounced around in his mind, whispering that if Gandalf was really even half the things he claimed to be in his songs, going unseen would certainly be no hardship.

 

When he finally left work that day, he took none of his usual pleasure in his ride home. Bilbo Baggins biked, or occasionally took the streetcar to work. He much preferred his little green bike to a car, allowing him to stop at his favourite flower shop or bakery on his way home without all the fuss of parking. His father had never driven a car, finding them far too loud and preposterous for his tastes. A backpack or a basket attached to a bike would do just fine for any purchases made, and if one couldn’t fit everything into that basket, then they probably shouldn’t be buying so much all at once in the first place.

Belladonna could drive, and had at one point owned a _motorcycle_. Bilbo had seen pictures of it. Though on occasion she would rent a car if they were to go on a trip somewhere or to transport a particularly bothersome item. For the most part the bus could be taken or the extra fees could be paid for the troublesome item to be simply delivered. 

Bilbo had followed after his father in this respect and had never gotten a car. Not too many hobbits did compared to other parts of the world, being adverse to their loudness. Hobbit-made cars were smaller, cleaner and infinitely more practical than any other cars to be found in all of Arda. But for the most part, those in the Shire would bus or bike or simply walk where they need to. So Bilbo was quite content with his little green bike.

Though when he was younger he used to dream of one day owning a Moped or a Vespa. A secret stash of drivers books for an M license was still residing under the loose floorboard of his old room. He had never signed up for the test, but he had spent hours studying it dreamily.

Today our hobbit found none of his usual comfort in riding through the little sunlit streets of Hobbiton, passing cafes and baskets of hanging flowers, and maneuvering around the respectable amount of traffic that could be found on the Main Street of the town. His eyes kept nervously scanning the sidewalks for a glimpse of a pointy hat or robes of grey, leaving him distracted and skittish.

There was no wizard to be found, of course, and he passed through the central hub and followed the road out into the bright fields of wheat and flowers unbothered. 

With the bright, happy flowers and growing things all around him in the warm early evening, he finally managed to push back his apprehension. Wizard or no, the sun was still shinning, green things were still growing, and Bilbo had a lovely wrapped salmon in the back of his bike just waiting to be fried up with lemon and butter and whatever nice herbs he had in his cabinet.

He stopped for a moment and let his eyes shut, breathing in deeply through his nose and tilting his head up to greet the sun. He was in Hobbiton, and he was still in the Shire. Everything was just fine.

After all, Bilbo reasoned as he pedaled his way up the hill of Bagshot Row, he had quite adamantly refused the man. He had not agreed to any adventures nor signed any contracts, so that would be the end of that, no doubt.

-[]-

It was _not_ the end of that, Bilbo reflected three hours later, running about his poor hobbit hole, flustered and harassed and swarmed by dwarves! Not at _all_.

 

There were food and dwarves everywhere! It looked like they had raided his fridge, taken out all of his leftovers and then raided his freezer! He could smell the potpie he had been saving, and there was the lasagna he had made the other night being dished out. His nice cheese scones had been decimated and the only sign that he had ever even had that nice potato bread was the crumbs all over the wooden cutting board on his counter.

They were eating his dumplings, had fried up all his bacon and sausages (breakfast food at this time of night, really!) and even dug out the pumpkin pies he had been meaning to give to his niece next week. They re-heated his soup, made a huge pile of sandwiches out of his condiments and pantry, and were using almost all of his cutlery. 

They were drinking his wine, his ale, his cider, his Dwarven Fire Vodka—

Wait, _Dwarven Fire Vodka?!_ He didn’t have any of that in the house. Where on earth did they get that!? 

Regardless, there were twelve very large and very loud dwarves all drinking and eating and making a mess of his orderly home. They were loud, rude, obnoxious and hell-bent on having the best time anyone had ever had in pillaging a poor hobbit’s entire food supply and home in the process.

This really was the worst and most awkward Wednesday he had ever had the misfortune of having!

-[]-

It all started when Bilbo had gone to fry up his lovely fish he had picked up from the shop. Hobbits were naturally inclined to food (both the making and the eating of) so he had little trouble in whipping up a mouth-watering dish and settling himself at the table in short order.

He had gotten home, put away his groceries and taken a quick shower. Only shrugging on a shirt, comfy pants and his patchwork house coat, he had gone into the kitchen to make dinner, flicking on his radio to 477.39 West Fathering Country FM.

Just as he had been about to happily tuck into his meal there was a loud knock at his door. Now, Bilbo was quite fond of company and normally he would have been delighted to have an old friend or relative over for dinner.

However, he was _not_ expecting anyone today, and was certainly in no mood to deal with some pushy salesman during dinnertime. Dropping in on another during meal times without an invite in the Shire was the height of rudeness. The height! Besides, who knocked at the door anyway when there was a perfectly good doorbell right there?

Deciding to ignore it in case it was his unpleasant cousin-in-law Lobelia Sackville-Baggins come to gripe about his silverware, Bilbo turned back to his meal, sliding away from the window as much as he could to avoid the possibility of being seen. 

Then the doorbell began to ring. On and off it merrily rang, again and again all through his hobbit hole. It was more than enough to give anyone a headache, and Bilbo outright scowled at the indignity. Hadn’t he already been put through enough disruptions today? “Alright, alright!” shouted Bilbo, huffing and getting to his feet. “Half a moment!”

His irritation won out, and he marched to the door, intending to yank it open and send the miscreant his most disproving glare he could muster and lecture them about propriety and neighbourhood discrepancies until they were properly chastised.

But he was not fast enough.

_Boom_

With the loud blare of a guitar riff and a chorus of screaming voices his door blasted open and flew right across the room, clean off its hinges. Bilbo shrieked and ducked, the great sound echoing all around his smial. 

“What in the Shire?” cried Bilbo. An ominous white fog was pouring in from the doorway and out of it stepped— 

“Ah, Bilbo Baggins,” looking up, the hobbit saw the same blasted rock wizard that had so rudely interrupted and flustered Bilbo that morning smiling down infuriatingly at him from the charred remains of his doorway, mist swirling around him mysteriously.

“Gandalf!” 

“I’m surprised at you, Bilbo,” the wizard admonished. “It’s not like you to keep friends waiting on the doorstep.”

“Friends? What, no! Friends don’t blow down each other’s doors!” he said, flapping his hands angrily at the wizard. “And what do you mean friends _plural?_ There’s only—oh no. _No!_ I don’t even know any of these people!” He added in alarm, as a whole hoard of dwarves filled into his home.

“That can be easily fixed, my dear hobbit,” said Gandalf, chuckling. “Allow me to introduce the members of _The Company_.”

“The what? No, I don’t want any—” Suddenly he was face to face with a dwarf. Fierce and unfathomably large, the dwarf glowered down at him. Bilbo gulped, suddenly feeling very much like a rabbit being eyed by a hungry wolf. 

“Dwalin, at yer service,” the dwarf said gruffly.

“Ah,” Bilbo stuttered, trying to tear his eyes away from the scars and the— was that an axe-shaped guitar on his back? “B-Bilbo Baggins at yours,” he found himself saying automatically. Goodness.

The dwarf pushed past him, walking menacingly into the smial, and before the hobbit could do more than stutter an objection there was another dwarf in his place. 

“Balin, at your service,” he had a long white beard that forked at the bottom and smiled kindly at the flustered hobbit, but Bilbo was far too worked up to be charmed. 

“Good evening,” he managed. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude—“ Bilbo began to say before he was cut off.

“Gloin, at your service,” blustered a fiercely red haired dwarf with a massive beard. “And my brother, Oin.”

“Yes, hello,” stated Bilbo stiffly. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake—“

“Eh? What’s that?” grunted Oin. “Ye’ve got cake?”

“No no, a mistake! I didn’t—“

“I can’t hear you lad, best speak up,” said Oin, tapping his hearing aid

“I said there’s a mistake!” Bilbo all but shouted, well past his tolerance for unexpected and unwanted surprises.

“Ach, no need to shout, laddie. Now where’s that cake?” And then the next group was upon him.

“Dori, at your service,” Dori pulled a younger dwarf closer. “And this fine lad here is my brother Ori— introduce yourself, Ori.”

“A-At your service, Mr. Baggins,” said a skittish looking dwarf with knitted mitts, clutching a notebook to his chest.

Dori nodded approvingly, “And this is Nori, our _other_ brother.”

The dwarf grinned widely at him, waggling his eyebrows, “Pleasure.”

“Ah...” Distracted by some of the most intricate hairstyles he had ever seen, the hobbit barely managed to voice a complaint before a new group of dwarves pushed foreword, led by a cheerful dwarf with a furry hat and a big wide mustache.

“I’m Bofur, and this here’s me brother Bombur and our cousin Bifur. It’s a pleasure to meet ye, Mr. Hobbit.”

“Likewise,” Bilbo managed.

“Don’t mind old Bif here, he don’t talk much. Old battle wound see, he don’t speak much common anymore.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s—look,” Bilbo began resolutely, steeling himself, “I-I don’t know any of you, at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry, but—“

A flash of light suddenly blinded him, and distracted, he turned to see two more dwarves grinning at him. They looked young, reminding Bilbo instantly of some of his more rambunctious nephews and nieces on his Took side. Spluttering, he realized that the dark haired one had just-

“Did you just take a picture of me?!” he demanded, suddenly aware of the fact he was still wearing his housecoat and comfortable sweat pants.

“One for the record, of course!” declared the dark haired dwarf.

Bilbo shook his head, eye twitching dangerously. “No. Nope. I’m sorry, but you can’t come in!”

“Awww, it was just one picture, Mr. Boggins.”

“It’s _Baggins_ —“

“What about the others you took of his burrow?” The blond dwarf added to his companion, smirking.

“Smial, it’s a _smial_ ,” Bilbo stressed, insulted on behalf of his perfectly lovely home. “Or a hobbit hole. Not a burrow, if you don’t mind.”

“But it’s built down into the ground like a little rabbit home—”

“And you do have pointy ears and fuzzy feet—”

“So it would make sense if you were—“

“I’m sorry!” interrupted Bilbo loudly. “You’ve come to the wrong house, now goodbye and good evening, thank you!” These dwarves had to go—propriety be-bothered!

“You mean it’s been cancelled?” Asked the blond dwarf, frowning. 

“What? Nono, nothing’s been cancelled!”

“Well that’s a relief!” two violins were thrust into his hands as the dwarves brushed past him. “Careful with those,” called the blond. “Just had them polished.”

Bilbo couldn’t have been bothered to care if the things had been polished or not. All he knew was that there were more dwarves than he could count tramping around, wearing ridiculous leather jackets and band t-shirts and boots, doing who knew what to his poor house. Something loud and violent from the sounds of it, and as soon as he got his hands on that wizard he would give him _such_ a talking to, just see if he didn’t! Bilbo wouldn’t even offer him any tea.

And then the dwarves had run amok, carting off his food and stomping all over his cozy home in their great iron boots, paying no heed to the infuriated hobbit chasing after them and trying to stop their aggressive pillaging.

“Could you not do that?” cried Bilbo as the dwarves began banging their forks and knives on the table rhythmically, “You’ll blunt them!”

“Oooh, ye hear that, lads?” called the hatted dwarf, grinning, “He say’s, we’ll blunt the kniiiives!”

And then, to Bilbo’s everlasting mortification, they started singing:

_Blunt the knives,_

_Bend the forks!_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plaaaates_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

And on the last note of _hates_ the loud blare of an electric guitar cut across the room (startling poor Bilbo quite badly from the shock of such indignity), and suddenly there were all kinds of instruments being pulled out, filling up his smial with sounds it had not heard for nearly three decades.

‘That’s right’, Bilbo thought to himself dazed, ‘They’re a metal band. A dwarven metal band, come to dinner’.

It appeared the great threatening dwarf with the tattoos was the lead guitarist, fearsome with his axe-shaped instrument. Unless it really was an axe that just happened to have frets and strings attached to it. It certainly looked threatening enough, as did the dwarf who wielded it, so it wouldn’t surprise Bilbo very much at this point to learn that was the case.

Somehow they had plugged it in, and there was a steady beat as well—and oh look, the large red-headed dwarf was playing the drums.

The two younger dwarves who had harassed him so at the doorway had leapt up onto the table, screaming out lyrics at each other and head banging at the same time.

Everywhere he looked the dwarves were singing or playing or thumping along with the beat, banging their fists and boots against the floor. 

Imagine poor Bilbo’s mortification if he had realized it could be heard far down the hill and all throughout Bagshot Row. Many a scandalized hobbit peeked out their window to glare and mutter in disbelief at the lights and raucous music coming from the respectable Mr. Baggins’s home at the top of the hill.

Thankfully, Bilbo was not aware of this, and instead had found himself sitting alone on a little stool in an out of the way corner, trying his best to pretend that all of this was perfectly normal and not in any way an adventure of any sort, come right into his hobbit hole and invited itself over for tea.

 

A loud, heavy knock at the door immediately quieted the racket.

“He’s here,” said Dwalin.

Oh dear, another guest, thought Bilbo, rising to his feet and padding over to the doorway. It looked like someone had fixed the door back in place, though the wall on either side was still blackened. He heard Gandalf great the newcomer. 

“Gandalf. You said this place would be easy to find,” said the dwarf (of course, another dwarf), “I lost my way twice.”

“Ah, Bilbo,” the wizard said, turning to the hobbit and ushering him forward, “Allow me to introduce the esteemed leader of _The Company_ and their lead vocalist, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin was large and notably displeased, fixing the hobbit with a self-important glare. “So, this is the hobbit.’ He sniffed dismissively, turning towards the other dwarves who had all crowded around the door at his entrance. “He looks more like a grocer than a lawyer.”

_Well._

Bilbo clicked his tongue, trying his hardest to bore a hole into the dwarf’s back through glaring.

“A merry gathering, aren’t they?” remarked Gandalf as the dwarves trooped back off to the dinning room.

“Merry? Oh yes,” Bilbo said lightly, a vein above his eye twitching. “I’m sure they had a _fine_ time pillaging my home and trashing the place. Gandalf, I would seriously consider suing this whole lot—yourself included, if I didn’t think the trouble of dragging you all to court would be more than it was worth!”

“Now now, no need to get all huffy.”

“Huffy!? I have _every_ right to—“

“Though it is nice to see that old spark of yours is still there,” the wizard winked at the befuddled lawyer and ushered him into the dinning room before he could come up with a reply.

“Now that we’re all here, why don’t we get down to business?” Gandalf declared, looking towards Thorin who had seated himself at the head of the table.

Thorin gave a slow nod, eyes roaming over his company. “I have called you all here for the chance of taking back what is ours, and defeating the shape-shifter once and for all.”

“It will be a long and hard undertaking, and undoubtedly dangerous. No one has seen the inside of Erebor since its take over, and if we are to do this we must brave its halls.”

“I will not stop any of you from turning back. There is no shame in that. But for all of you that would stand by me, we shall regain our stolen glory and take our vengeance from the worm!”

This was met by a great deal of applause and shouting and clanking of tankards on the table that had Bilbo wincing at the abuse of the woodwork.

“We’re taking that dragon down!”

“Aye, he’ll feel the wrath of Durin’s folk.”

“I’m not afraid of any Shape-shifter!” called Ori, even as his brother tried to shush him.

“We cannot go against him blindly,” said Balin slowly. “Smaug has too much power and influence to be taken down easily even, if we do best him at the concert.”

“That’s why we need a lawyer.”

“What do you need a lawyer for?” asked Bilbo, drawn into the conversation despite his best efforts to remain impassive. He had always loved great tales and epic quests (and songs about them), though he preferred to hear about them from the comfort of his armchair.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Baggins does not know the full tale,” Gandalf said, smiling at the hobbit. “Would any of you care to do the honours..?”

“It was years ago, lad,” started Balin, taking a pull from his pipe. “Have you ever heard of _Erebor Inc_ or _The Lonely Mountain?_.”

“Goodness, do you mean _the_ single most prominent recording company in the East? The maker of some of the best guitars and instruments in all of Arda, producing all kinds of fantastic music? The massive skyscraper built right out of a mountain!? That Erebor?”

Balin chuckled, “Yes lad, _that_ Erebor. Or rather, what used to be that Erebor.” The dwarf sighed. “Perhaps you’ve heard rather different things about it these days?”

“Well, yes. It produces that awful music, always by that same vocalist. Dreadful really, I can’t imagine anyone listening to it if they had a choice. What happened?”

“It was that damn dragon!” Dwalin slammed his fists down on the table, a few other dwarves nodding along in agreement. 

“Ah, quick question,” asked Bilbo, raising a finger. “What do you mean, dragon?”

“Razor sharp teeth, claws like spears,” Bofur said cheerfully, grinning. “Think furnace—with wings.”

“I know what a dragon is,” Bilbo exclaimed uncomfortably. “Do you mean one really did-well, did something awful to Erebor?”

“We speak of Smaug, Mr. Baggins,” Dwalin said. “A shape-shifter. He can be a man or a dragon as he pleases. But either way he’s immensely powerful and dangerous. He’s also a vocalist.”

 

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Thorin said, eyes glinting dangerously. “ _Erebor inc_ belonged to my kin, was run by my people, and sponsored our band _Oakenshield_. Until Smaug came along. He saw our fame and our glory and wanted it for himself.”

“Smaug claimed that _Oakenshield_ had stolen his music and demanded a formal investigation. It was a lie, of course, but somehow Smaug had Erebor infiltrated and planted false evidence. It was a scandal. Soon enough all of our allies turned on us, unwilling to challenge the dragon, and Erebor lost much of its prestige. Enough that Smaug could take it for his own.”

“Which is why we strike now.” The dwarf stood, proud and almost regal in his worn leather jacket and jeans. “The Durin’s Day concert is only a few months away, and we will defeat Smaug and take back what is ours! No longer will that dragon make a lair for himself in the halls of my Forebears, of the home of hundreds of bands and the former largest music hub in all of Arda.”

“Now, hang on a moment,” intercepted Bilbo, brow furrowing. “If you’ll excuse me saying so, beating him at this concert might not be enough to win back your fame if they think you’ve stolen music.”

“Which is where you come in,” added Gandalf, eyes twinkling.

Bilbo opened his mouth and then closed it sharply. “I Beg your pardon?”

“We need a lawyer to prove Smaug guilty of his crimes and restore _Oakenshield’s_ image if we’re to have a chance against him.”

“H-Half a moment,” exclaimed the hobbit, panic rising in his voice. “You want me- _me_ , to, what, cross examine a shape-shifting dragon and get him to confess to framing and plagiarism?”

“That was the idea,” intoned Thorin dryly.

“How on earth could that be done?” cried Bilbo, “If he’s anything as dangerous or as powerful as you make him out to be it would be suicide! Walking right up and talking to him isn’t a plan at all! You’d need a real expert for that!”

“Are you?” asked Gloin.

“Am I what?”

“An expert.”

“What?! No, no!” Bilbo flapped his hands around for emphasis, “I mean, I am a more than capable lawyer, don’t you know, but this is a dragon!”

“He says he’s an expert!” exclaimed Oin loudly, hand pressed to his hearing aid.

“No! Not on dragons!” the lawyer all but yelled, “I’ve never done anything half so much as dangerous, and I’m sorry, but I only work locally, no farther than Bree. I’m not going to parade across the map, I’m a hobbit! Not some great warrior.”

“Aye, he’s right,” said Dwalin. “The lad’s not cut out for the wilds if he’s intimidated by the mention of them.”

“Yes, thank—hang on, I’m not intimidated.”

“Scared then.”

“I am not scared! It’s unrespectable and terribly rude to spring this on a body without any warning. Not to mention what you’ve done to my house!”

Kili looked up in confusion. “I thought you said it was a smaul?”

“Smial,” Bilbo corrected, “And yes, it is, but it can also be called a house or a hobbit hole or just a home, thank you. Look, I am a hobbit lawyer. I don’t represent metal bands on a quest for glory-and certainly not a bunch of ruffians who blow down my door—which by the way is breaking and entering (being invited by someone else is _not_ a valid excuse)— invade my house, eat all my food, sing insulting songs about me while terrorizing my poor cutlery, and tread mud all over the carpet! That is defacing private property, not to mention just plain rude. I’m sorry, but you have the wrong lawyer.”

 

“Gandalf,” Thorin said in the silence following the hobbit’s outburst. “Your lawyer refuses to represent us, and has no musical talent, making him unable to defend himself in a fight. I cannot see why bringing the hobbit would help anyone. Especially when the mere mention of our quest has him quaking in his boots.”

“Now half a moment,” Bilbo glared at the lead vocalist, indignation rising. “I never said I have no musical talent and I am most certainly not wearing any boots! Perish the thought,” he finished with a shudder.

“He’s useless, and far too fussy a creature to be of any—“

But something seemed to snap within the rock wizard and Thorin was suddenly cut off by a ghostly screaming of voices. The whole room grew dark and Gandalf loomed before them, magic voices rising to a wail around him. “If I say Bilbo Baggins will be your lawyer, then your lawyer he shall be!” The words were like thunder and shook the room with their force. Suddenly it was gone, and Gandalf was just an eccentric old man again sitting in the cheerily lit hobbit hole.

“Alright,” Thorin sighed dramatically. “Give him the contract.”

“Contract?” Bilbo squeaked, and a piece of paper was shoved at him by the illustrious lead vocalist. The hobbit automatically took it and unfolded the thing, surprised to find it at least seven pages long. “Ah, let’s see…” pulling out his reading glasses, Bilbo gave the thing a look over, immediately comforted by the solid familiarity of a written contract.

“…Payment will be agreed upon after professional services have been provided and the case resolved…traveling expenses guaranteed in any event…will not be held accountable nor responsible for any injuries including but not limited to…laceration,” his eyes narrowed, “Evisceration? Dissolution? Incineration?!” he finished, staring up at the dwarves in wide-eyed incredulity.

“That’s a reference to ol’ Smaug,” said Bofur helpfully, “He’ll melt the flesh right off your bones in the blink of an eye. Or he’ll dissolve you into nothing’ with his vocals,” the dwarf shrugged, grinning. “Either way, you’ll be nothing more than a pile o’ ash, if even that.”

The Company watched as the hobbit paled, took several deep breaths, cleared his throat and declared “Nope.” Before passing right out on the floor in a dead faint.

-[]-

“Now Bilbo, do be reasonable,” said the wizard some time later.

“Reasonable? I _am_ reasonable!” Bilbo replied, pacing furiously with an ice pack pressed to his head from the fall. He was fully aware that the whole company was very obviously listening in on his conversation with the wizard, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “It’s you lot that are making all the trouble.”

“You can’t tell me that you mean to spend your whole life cooped up in your office in Hobbiton?” asked Gandalf kindly. “Why, once I knew a young hobbit who wanted nothing more than to see the world and have adventures, and with a dwarven metal band too. You’d still be doing your chosen line of work, but with a more hands-on approach.”

“I don’t want hands-on if it mean’s I’m going to be _incinerated_ ,” Bilbo said, purposely raising his voice on the last word on behalf of the eavesdroppers in the other room. 

The hobbit sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Look, Gandalf. I’m not the same hobbit I was in my tweens. After my parents died I realized I had to grow up and be responsible, and put away dreams of adventure or-or metal.”

“So you refuse our terms?” Giving a start, Bilbo looked up to see Thorin leaning against the wall, watching him coldly with his arms crossed. The hobbit's eyes narrowed, embarrassed and angry that this arrogant dwarf had intruded in on a personal conversation.

“No and thank you, Mr. Oakenshield,” the lawyer glared at the dwarf. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

He brushed past the dwarf and walked over to the door to his room down the hall. “Goodnight and Good _bye!_ ” he slammed his bedroom door, breathing harshly. “And good riddance,” he added to himself. 

Fully intending on going to bed in a huff and blocking out the racket with a pillow or two, he was not at all prepared for what happened next.

It should be noted that when Bilbo Baggins had first gone through his ‘metal phase’ (as he now referred to it, being a respectable hobbit) he had been completely obsessed and listened to the music almost non-stop for a fair number of years. Eventually he had grown out of it and acknowledged that he had to become a respectable hobbit and put away all his albums and posters of _Glorfindel_ and _Stormcrow_ and the like.

So now, nearly thirty years later, he was not prepared for the sound of metal to come from his living room as he dressed for bed.

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep_

_And dreams of gold_

_We must away_

_Ere break of day_

_To find our long forgotten gold_

It was haunting, beautiful even, and full of such longing that it tugged at his heart fiercely. But at the first chords of the electric guitar that followed the same tune, Bilbo nearly drowned in a wave of nostalgia.

He hadn’t noticed earlier when the dwarves had first played, too caught up in the insulting lyrics and nature and loudness of the song. But now hearing metal again after all of this time, he remembered everything that he had loved about it. It was exhilarating and epic and everything that he wasn’t but had secretly longed to be in his tween hood. Not respectable in the least, but thrilling, and so bold and exciting.

He sat propped up against a bedpost letting the music wash over him, long past when they had stopped playing and retired for the night.

-[]-

It took him a long, long while to fall asleep. And when he finally did it was with the haunting notes of the dwarves’ song and the oh-so familiar sound of a metal guitar in his ears, making him nostalgic and uncomfortable all at once. So of course it followed him into his dreams.

Bilbo dreamt he was the star of his own metal band, lugging around a ferocious guitar shaped like a double-ended axe. He screamed into the mike, dwarves flanking him on either side, stomping about on stage with their great iron boots to the pounding beat and screaming voices.

Crowds were screaming and jumping up and down, cheering wildly as they played. Suddenly the mass of people transformed, turning into a giant mosh pit. Humans and orcs and elves and dwarves, all charged screaming at each other, fighting and falling under the deafening blare of his guitar.

A great roar rent the air and a fiery glow lit up the sky, bathing everything in blood red. Out of the sky came a great shape. Wings spread wide, a massive dragon swooped down, fire and death raging from its jaws, consuming everything in its path. Bilbo’s feet were rooted to the ground and he could only watch as the dwarves on either side of him dissolved away into nothing. He was alone on the stage, destruction burning all around, and the dragon was before him. It seemed to smirk at him before opening its fearsome maw impossibly wide, bearing down on the burning stage. He wanted to run but he could only watch in terror as the jaws closed around him, a cruel laughter echoing and echoing through his head—

Gasping, he shot up in bed, blinking rapidly. Bilbo looked around, finding no fiery stage or mosh pits or dragon, only his own familiar room in his cozy smial.

‘Bilbo Baggins’, he chided himself, ‘You are far too old to be having such fanciful nightmares.’

He relaxed back into his bed, taking in the peaceful stillness of the morning light creeping in through his blinds. Then he frowned. The night before came crashing back to him, and he shot upright, scrambling out of bed and struggling into some clothes. Valar only knew what those dwarves had done to his kitchen by now, even if it did sound awfully still and peaceful out there—

Peaceful?

Frowning, Bilbo righted himself and stepped resolutely to the door, opening it and peering warily out into the hallway.

No dwarves.

He padded cautiously down the hallway, ears straining for any sound of the unruly metal band lumbering around. 

“Hullo?” he called upon reaching a sparkling kitchen. No stacks of dishes piled worryingly high, no glasses and bottles cluttering his counter. His hand twitched.

“Hullo?” he called again, ducking into the dinning room. Everything was put back to rights, the chairs neatly tucked under the table which was neatly centered and had all the place mats back in in their designated spots. 

It was as if there had never been a metal band terrorizing his house at all. In fact it was only when he caught sight of the contract still laying on the table that he truly believed it had really happened, and that yesterday wasn’t just some odd dream brought about by stress or something unpleasant he had eaten.

“Well,” he said to himself, clasping his hands behind his back and bouncing lightly on his heels. That was it, then. They had finally let him be. Gone off out into the wild and dangerous lands beyond the Shire with their blasted music. To challenge a shape shifting dragon vocalist and reclaim their long lost glory.

He sniffed. 

That would be something to see. A dwarven metal band taking down a wicked dragon. That sounded like a proper adventure. The kind they would sing about for ages to come. The kind Bilbo himself had listened to and adored when he was a tween.

It was a Thursday morning, and just like any other Thursday morning he would eat his breakfast, pack up his brief case and bike out to his quiet little office. There was a perfectly respectable case waiting for him there, the Chubb-Boffins case concerning the misplaced cow, and he would work on that and soon enough forget all about that Metal Band nonsense.

Taking one last look at the contract he nodded decisively, folding it up and making his way to the kitchen to get ready for work.

Not one minute later he flew back into the dinning room, unfolding the paper and signing it with a hurried flourish. Bilbo needed to pack; he was going on an adventure.

-[]-

In the middle of his packing flurry, he had realized with a jolt that he had no idea where exactly The Company was, nor where they were going, aside from the Lonely Mountain eventually. Before he even had time to let that discourage him, his cell phone buzzed from where it was laying on his bedside table. Snatching it up, he nearly dropped it in surprise.

 

 **8:37 7/21/TA2941**  
From: Gandalf

Meet us at The Green Dragon, 9:15 AM sharp. Don’t worry about the Chubb-Boffins case, I’ve already taken care of it. 

 

Well, he thought in a panic. That only left him with about twenty minutes to pack before he had to leave as fast as he could pedal to make it on time. Bilbo realized he was grinning.

After all, he had a metal band to catch.


	3. Trollshaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo tries to adjust to life on the road with _The Company_ , and they make a stop over at the _Roast Mutton_ Diner.

In his youth, Bilbo had often imagined he was a rock star. Being famous, going to all the fanciest restaurants, and having far too many clothes as to know what to do with. All luxury and concerts and fans.

Finding himself crammed into a battered old RV with thirteen dwarves and the rock wizard Gandalf was about as far off from what he had imagined as possible. 

It fit everyone, if just barely, their packs and equipment piled high in the back and everyone else jammed in pairs on the bus-like seats. Bilbo had felt his enthusiasm take a hard blow once he got a look at their traveling conditions and it had turned into something like dread not even half an hour into the trip. 

He was beginning to think that he had made an awful mistake in not simply going to work that morning as usual, instead of biking as fast as his feet could take him down to _The Green Dragon_ and making a scene of himself in front of the whole town. 

Erebor was a long way off, in fact almost as far east of the Shire as the map would go. Yet with _The Company_ being somewhat lacking in funds, taking a plane was out of the picture. So they’d drive. 

“It might take about three-four weeks or so,” explained the redheaded dwarf with hair that went up in three peaks like a star, seated beside the hobbit near the back of the RV. Bilbo thought his name might have been Nori, but was feeling too overwhelmed to take much else in. “Provided everything goes according to plan, and we don’t get snatched by orcs or goblins. Or elves.” He added after a moment, face twisting at the word.

“Snatched?” asked Bilbo faintly. 

The dwarf grinned at him, showing off his teeth, “Aye. The world’s a nasty place outside of the cozy little Shire. Anything could happen.”

The hobbit had frowned at him, thinking he was being made fun of. But after remembering his mother’s tales of her travels and all the things he had read and watched of foreign places on TV, he had begun to worry. As a student he had heard of all the strange and bizarre doings in other lands and what passed as laws out in the wilds between formal governments. Things were different outside of the Shire he knew, that was why very few hobbits left or went much further than Bree. A particularly adventurous hobbit might go to Rivendell, or perhaps a group would join an official tour group.

But everyone knew that the Big Folk were just odd, and had strange, hazardous ways of doing things. Not orderly at all. Anything could happen indeed.

However, as hour after hour went by of just sitting in the van as it drove along through the Shire, packed full of rowdy dwarves breaking out into song every once in a while and yelling at each other from across the seats, the small knot of worry had slowly given away and turned into car sickness. Bilbo didn’t care if wherever they stopped that night was dangerous or not; if he could get out of the van, he was all for it.

When Thorin decided they had burned enough miles for the day they pulled over off the country road and parked in the grass. They spilled out of the battered old RV, everyone more than eager to be out of it after spending entirely too many hours crammed inside of the thing, and before Bilbo could inquire about their accommodations, Thorin had declared that they would rest here for the night. 

According to their leader, they had not the time nor the funds to track down a motel or restaurant every night, so they would sleep in or outside of the RV (weather depending) and mass buy their food from supermarket stores they passed along the way. 

“This is a quest, not a tourist trip!” Thorin barked, before stalking off to stare majestically into the distance.

The hobbit had nearly turned around and gone back to Hobbiton, but he knew that would require more driving, and he was quite done with that for today, thank you. Not to mention the Company surely wouldn’t let him use the van, he had no idea where he was to even contact a taxi. Standing by the road waiting to hitch a ride was possibly more offensive to his sensibilities than sleeping out here anyway. Too tired and sore from sitting all day, he had merely sighed and slumped into the grass, trying to console himself that at least it didn’t look like rain.

The dwarves either joined him in the grass or started breaking out gear from the van. Firewood and kindling was piled in a small pit Bofur and Bifur had dug and lined with rocks, and Oin (a pyromaniac according to his brother Gloin) soon had a blaze going. Bilbo tried to wrack his brain about fire regulations in the Shire but came up with a blank. The fact that he hardly cared should have bothered him more, but right now he was just happy to be out of the van and breathing in the fresh, open air of the gentle Shire countryside. 

And so, Bilbo Baggins, attorney at law and official legal representative of The Company, found himself roasting hot dogs and eating beans right out of a can in the company of thirteen dwarves and a wizard. 

“You have to take the paper off first,” explained Bombur, ripping off the label on his can. “Otherwise it’ll catch fire. Make sure you punch a hole in the top before you put it on the grate.”

“What happens if you don’t?” asked Bilbo, curious. The dwarf spread his hands, mimicking the sound of an explosion. “Ah.”

The large dwarf chuckled. “Aye, so mind you don’t forget. Or just open the lid a little. Wouldn’t want to waste all that food.”

“Oh no, certainly not,” Bilbo agreed, stomach grumbling in protest at the thought. 

“My brother Bofur used to do that for laughs back in Ered Luin,” continued Bombur, nodding his head at the hatted dwarf. “Livens up the campsite, that’s for sure. But it’s a mess to clean up.”

“I can imagine it would be,” said the lawyer, grimacing. They roasted their hot dogs while waiting for the beans to cook, all lined up on a grate placed above the fire. Bombur would stir them every one in a while to make sure they wouldn’t stick. 

There was a certain charm to food cooked over an open fire, Bilbo reflected. It had been entirely too long since he had last been camping. For his coming of age party (at age thirty-three) his cousins had taken him on a cross-country Pub-crawl. It was two weeks of backpacking from town to town, trying the best of the local pubs and camping out under the stars. Even though it had rained for a fair part of it (being late September and all) Bilbo still thought back on it fondly. Perhaps Gandalf was right, and this adventure really was what he needed.

“What rhymes with despair?” asked Ori from behind his notebook.

“The air!” shouted Kili.

“Nowhere,” said Nori.

“Beware?” suggested Bilbo, leaning behind the two squabbling dwarves.

“Oh! Yes, thank you Mr. Baggins,” said Ori, scribbling something down in his notebook.

“How about, like…the lair…?” said Kili.

“Erm, I dunno if it fits quite right…” Ori said, scratching his head with his pen. “How about doom? Can anyone think of that?”

“Moon?”

“Boom!!”

“Gloom?”

“Hey, Mr. Boggins,” Bilbo looked up cautiously as the two youngest dwarves, Fili and Kili, suddenly plopped down on either side of him.

“Eh…yes?”

“You’re a lawyer, right?” asked Fili.

“Yes?” replied the hobbit warily.

“So you know _all_ about judgment,” Kili said, eyes gleaming.

“Ah, no. Not exactly-“

“But that’s what lawyers do, you judge people, right?”

“Erm, no. No, that’s more of a judge, and even then there is typically a jury and a trial—“

“Who’s the better guitarist?” asked Kili, cutting the hobbit off and leaning right up and into his personal space. “Me or Fili?”

Fili gave his brother a shove. “Come off it, Ki, he’s not gonna tell you you’re worse when you’re in his face like that.”

“No, he’s not, because _I’m_ the more talented one.”

“Boys!” Bilbo called, raising his hands. “I can’t tell you because I’ve only heard you all play as a band, and only twice at that.”

“What!?” They looked at each other in shock

“Well then, Mr. Boggins—”

“It’s _Baggins_ —“

“We’d better give you a proper performance.”

“Are you reeeaaaaadddyyyyyy?!!!!” screamed Kili, throwing his head back and raising his arms, fingers moving furiously as if they were racing across the fretting of a guitar. “Weeooooowwww!” he cried, “Weeooo, weeedly, weeedly, weeeoooo!!!”

“That’s all you got?” scoffed Fili. “Check this out! Weeeooow weedly weeedly weeeowww!!”

Kili jumped to his feet and tossed his hair wildly, bringing his ‘guitar’ up and down as he made noises along with it. His brother joined him, and soon they were both standing there, eyes closed, banging their heads, faces passionate and trying their best to imitate the noises of their instruments. It told Bilbo more about The Company than anything else that most of them barely even looked up at the display, this clearly being a common occurrence. 

“Weeo _wooooowwwwoooaaaaaaa_ , weeeedly, weedly, weedlyweeeeooooo, _weooooooooow!_ ”

“ _Weee_ oowwwwww, weow, _weee_ oow, weeeoooooowwwwoooeeeeww _oooowww!_ ”

 

“Any rhymes for conquest?” Ori called out, voice barely audible over the brother’s furious competition.

Bilbo started as a deep beat started up behind him. Turning, he saw Bombur had flipped an empty pot and was drumming away happily with a wooden spoon and his hands to the improvised jam.

Dwalin snorted, “Amateurs, the both of ye.”

“You’re just jealous!” called Kili, throwing his head back and screaming.

“Fili, Kili, keep it down!” Thorin yelled, glaring at the two. “Or at least use your actual guitars.”

“Sorry uncle,” said Fili, grinning unapologetically. They plopped down beside the hobbit again, looking at him expectantly. “So, what do you think?”

“I’m better, right?” said Kili smugly, fluttering his eyelashes.

The hobbit held back a chuckle. “I’d have to say it’s a draw, really.”

“What? Aww.”

“He just doesn’t want to say you suck to your face,” said Fili, pushing his brother.

“No, he’s afraid you’ll cry if he admits I’m better.”

“Boys!” Bilbo called, halting their argument. “Actually, can I ask you a question about the band?”

“Oh yeah, we know everything.” Fili said smiling, Kili nodding along enthusiastically.

“Yes, well. I was wondering what everyone does. In the band, I mean.”

“Uncle’s the lead vocalist,” Fili said, gesturing over to Thorin who was moodily strumming his guitar, firelight lighting his frame. “He also plays base guitar and synth, and has a thing for keyboard.”

Bilbo blinked, “You mean, piano?”

“The little portable ones, yeah.”

“Don’t tell him we told you, but Uncle’s a real sucker for those epic and depressing ballads,” Kili added in a mock whisper. “You know, the old epics about great battles and tragic loss. All that.”

“Goodness,” said Bilbo, trying to imagine the brooding dwarf playing _The Fall of Gondolin_ on piano.

“Dwalin is our lead guitar on the axe. He’s got two, Grasper and Keeper,” the hobbit peeked over at the large, tattooed dwarf who was polishing his axe-guitar, sitting beside Thorin and adding to his dark brooding at the fire.

“Do _not_ touch those if you want to keep your fingers.”

“Ah, right.”

“Me and Kili play back up guitar and vocals, and we both play strings.”

“It’s a pretty sweet deal, we get all the glory.”

“Bombur plays the drums if you couldn’t tell.”

“He’s a fairly new addition, but he’s great.”

“Balin manages everything, him and Dori figure all the stuff out. Keeps everyone in line and all.”

“Ori here is our resident scribe and aspiring lyricist. He loves all those great epics.”

“Oh, yes,” said Bilbo, smiling. “That certainly explains the rhyming.”

“Bofur, Bifur and Nori are our roadies, they help us get from place to place, make sure we know where we’re going. They also deal with our technical needs along with Oin here, our expert.“

“He’s a bit deaf if you hadn’t noticed. Amped it up too much, spent too long around the speakers and all, y’know?” said Kili, grinning. “But he’s never without his headphones. He’s personally in charge of all the special effects and explosions and the like for the stage. Ka-BLAM!”

“His brother Gloin is our treasurer. He keeps close watch on our funds and makes sure the techies don’t get carried away, which is why he’s always arguing with Oin.”

“And because Oin likes to pretend he can’t hear someone if it suits him,” added Kili, grinning.

“That too.”

“Alright, pack it up,” called Thorin, standing. “We set out at first light, so I suggest you all get some sleep.”

Bilbo watched as everyone got to their feet, pulling out backpacks and sleeping bags from the van. “Are we really going to sleep out here?” he asked doubtfully.

“It’s that or sleep in the van, laddie,” Balin said to him in passing, smiling understandably at is distress. “At least the van has a bathroom, though you might have to wait a while for a shower if you want one. We’ve a water barrel set up for washing hands and faces though.”

Bilbo stood around uncomfortably, thinking of his own sleeping bag neatly packed in his closet at home with the rest of his camping things. He startled as suddenly a deep green sleeping bag was pushed into his hands. “Here,” Dwalin grunted at him.

“Thank you! But won’t you need—“

“It’s a spare.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, then.”

Dwalin grunted again and lumbered off without a word, leaving the hobbit to take a proper look at it.

“Hey Boggins! Catch!”

Something soft smacked him right in the face, causing him to drop the sleeping bag and fumble with whatever it was. A pillow, he realized.

“We’ve got more in the back of the van if you want,” said Fili. “But those ones don’t smell too great.”

While he would have preferred to have it handed to him instead of chucked at his head, at least they hadn’t seen fit to sing about it. “Thank you, “ said Bilbo, smiling.

It took the hobbit a long while to fall asleep that night, laying under the stars by the side of the road, the thunderous snores of his companions and the occasional car passing mingling with the sound of crickets in the warm summer night.

X|]|[|X

“Balin?” asked the hobbit, leaning towards the white haired dwarf sitting in the row in front of him. “Where exactly are we?” They had been on the road for about four days now, and had passed the boarders of the Shire into more rugged country.

“We’re passing into the Trollshaws, lad.”

“Trollshaws?” Bilbo repeated. At Balin’s nod he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “And are there any, ah, well, _trolls_ there? It’s just a name, isn’t it?”

“There might very well be some trolls there, lad,” replied Balin. “They tend to stick closer to the mountains to our north, but it has happened before that they’ll stray. Of course you won’t see any in the daylight. They turn right to stone if caught out in it.”

“Oh,” Bilbo sank back in his seat. He worried the cuffs of his sleeve and peered out of the van window anxiously (he had _finally_ managed to get a window seat). Good thing a troll wouldn’t attack a moving van.

…Right?

Scooting just a little bit away from the window, the lawyer pulled out his laptop and booted it up. A little work would certainly distract him from such disturbing thoughts! After all, he did need to do more research on the Smaug vs Oakenshield case, if he was to have any hope of helping his clients.

Unfortunately, a highway through the Trollshaws was not the best place for Internet access. He ended up going over what little he had managed to pull up before they had left Hobbiton (and the wifi therein), writing down everything he knew so far and planning certain approaches he could make to the case when he had more information. After a while the rocking of the van was making him sick, so he put it away and stared glumly out the window instead, willing away the nausea.

Within a few hours dark clouds had covered the sky, and soon the RV was pelted with rain as it drove along the road. Peering out the window all that Bilbo could see was a blur of greys and greens, the land becoming more rugged than his orderly little Hobbiton back in the Shire. 

It had been almost half an hour since they had last passed a sign or any marker on the road. All it had stated was that Bree was now very far behind them, and the nearest stopover was not for another couple hundred miles or so. He silently thanked the Valar that the RV had a built in bathroom, no matter how cramped or awkward. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Thorin being very sympathetic towards those who had to go.

“Uncle, can we stay at a hotel tonight?” asked Kili. “I’ve spent waay too much time cooped up inside this bloody van to want to sleep in it as well.”

“This is not a pleasure trip, Kili, we cannot go around stopping at every hotel or Bed and Breakfast we pass.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me,” Bilbo muttered quietly to himself. Unfortunately Thorin overheard him, sitting as he was in the seat in front of the hobbit. The dwarf turned to aim a scathing glare at him.

“We are not here to coddle your sensitivities, hobbit,” he growled out. “Erebor is still weeks away, we do not have the funds to be so frivolous.”

“Aye Thorin, that we don’t,” Gloin agreed from the row across. “But, eh, me thinks the funds can manage a night or too out of the van. Just a few here and there, if ye know what I mean?”

There was a course of agreements from all around, no one wanting to spend their nights sleeping in the same seats they had spent all day sitting in.

“Fine!” Thorin barked, giving in. “If the rain hasn’t let up in two days we’ll stay at the cheapest motel we can find.”

X|]|[|X

The rain did not let up in two days. If anything, it seemed to be trying its hardest to do the exact opposite of letting up, and focused instead on washing them all away, along with the road and the landscape and even the distant mountains they could see in the distance.

Had seen in the distance, that is. The grey of the sky had swallowed up everything, and no matter how hard Bilbo squinted he couldn’t make out more than a meter or two away from the van. The van had slugged and sloshed through half-flooded roads and the mists, water going halfway up its wheels at some points. Fellow cars and lampposts materialized out of the mist around them, fading away almost as soon as they were spotted or splattering them with water as they received the same treatment from the van.

“Running low on gas,” Dwalin muttered.

“Fine,” Thorin growled out. “We’ll stop a gas station once we’ve gone far enough. If there’s a restaurant there, we’ll grab something to eat and see if there’s a cheep motel. If it’s not some fancy elf place.”

Everyone broke out cheering, save for the ever-brooding dwarf vocalist who was far too important for such things. Though he may have smiled a bit at his company's enthusiasm while no one was watching.

X|]|[|X

They drove long, long into the night. By the time Thorin had declared they’d burned enough miles for one day, the nearest stop-over was sill hours away.

Gloin had grumbled about roadies needing to do their damn job, causing Bofur, Bifur and Nori to bristle up. Bifur had signed something rude in iglishmek (the dwarven sign language) and Nori had loudly stated that if no one took their advice it wouldn’t matter if they worked or not.

Dori snorted, “As if _you_ know anything about working! You just slack off as much as you can.” 

“Listen here, you old bat!” began Nori angrily, causing the two to go off on their own squabble, Ori hovering around his bickering brothers nervously, trying to get them to stop.

Bofur called out “It’s just as much the _driver’s_ fault as ours,” making Dwalin who had been stationed at the wheel for the last six hours growl threateningly and prove himself a capable (and aggressive) driver by stepping on the gas and dramatically swerving around a small cluster of speed-limit abiding vehicles, cutting in front of them.

“I’d like to see any one of you do better with this Mahal forsaken van!”

“I’ll drive!” Kili jumped up from his seat and climbed over his unsuspecting brother, flying over to the front of the van and elbowing and jarring at least half of the company, leaving many a dwarf groaning and cursing at his passage “Uncle, can I have the wheel?!”

“Kili. You are _not_ driving,” Thorin said firmly, gritting his teeth in irritation. “In fact, you are hereby banned from the front of the van.”

“What? Whyyy?!”

“I second that,” grumbled Dwalin.

“First,” began Thorin sternly, “You don’t have a license—“

“I have a G1!”

“Which is useless. Especially as you’ve never driven a van before.”

“I can do it!”

“Says the dwarf who drove into a wall!” Dwalin added helpfully.

“That was ages ago!”

“It was last month, Kili!” shouted Fili from further back in the van. Kili stuck his tongue out at his brother.

“I bet you’d let Fili drive,” he said mulishly.

“No, I would not,” said Thorin. “But if I had to choose one of you, it would not be you, Kili.”

“What! That’s so mean!”

“Fili is respecting the driver and the rules of the road by staying in his seat and not upsetting half the company.” Just then the van went over a bump in the road, causing Kili to topple backward into the row behind him.

“Sit down lad!” shouted Oin, yanking the young dwarf back from the front, “None of yer acrobatics in a moving vehicle!” Kili sulked and made his way back to his brother. 

The atmosphere remained tense and agitated, Nori and Dori still fighting, and everyone snipping at everyone else.

“It’s the weather that’s to blame,” Balin said to the hobbit seated beside him, who was listing off to the side miserably, car sick and thinking longingly of his cozy and quiet hobbit hole, and his favourite armchair in front of the fire. “It’s what’s got us all at each other’s throats. Cooped up in this van all week, hardly any fresh air or legroom. I’m surprised there haven’t been any flat out fights, to be honest.”

Privately, Bilbo though that perhaps their esteemed leader was pushing them too hard, but none had dared raise an accusation against the great Oakenshield. Bilbo certainly wouldn’t, as he very much wished to stay in one piece.

At least he wouldn’t say anything out loud. 

 

The whole van broke out into an argument about the skills of the driver, the chosen route, the benefits of disregarding the speed limit, and the Mahal cursed rain. When they finally pulled into the parking lot of a gas station stop over no one could get out of the van fast enough. 

“Look!”

“ _Roast Mutton!_ ”

“Aww yiisss, my favouret!”

“It’s a…Diner?” asked Bilbo, squinting at he building through the rain.

“Aye,” Bofur sighed dreamily, coming up beside the lawyer. “One o’ the best. Some o’ the finest greasy fried meats you’ll ever eat, await just beyond yonder gateway.”

“Oi, hold it lads!” shouted Gloin. “Someone has to fill up the van.”

“Not me,” Nori said quickly.

“I filled it up last time!” cried Ori.

“The driver should do it,” Gloin said.

“Why doesn’t the treasurer do it, keep an eye on the funds?” Dwalin replied, glaring at the red head.

“Quiet!” barked Thorin, the company going silent around him. “As the newest addition to our company, Master Baggins will fill up the van.”

“What!?” cried Bilbo, “Now that is unfounded!”

“Surely you can handle such a simple task, hobbit.”

“Well of course, but—“

“Then _do it_. Meet us inside when you’re done.”

And with that the dwarf swept off, pulling open the doors of the Roast Mutton and walking inside, his company following in his wake. Fili and Kili were sniggering over their shoulders at him.

“Them’s the ropes, Baggins,” Nori patted him condescendingly on the head, ignoring Bilbo’s best death glare. Perhaps it needed more work? After all, these dwarves had to put up with Thorin on a daily basis.

“Only the good stuff, lad,” said Gloin, warned giving the van an affectionate pat, “None of that cheep junk, she needs the best.”

Bilbo was left standing alone in the parking lot next to the van, watching the backs of the dwarves as they happily entered the Diner. A teasing waft of air drifted out from the closing doors smelling of deliciously fried food, and it was all Bilbo could do not to simply go after it and leave the blasted van behind.

“Confusticate these dwarves!”

 

The hobbit muttered to himself as he fumbled with the gas machine, trying to find the spot on the van to connect to the pump. “Oh, Thorin and company, I hope you don’t mind if I leave my comfortable office in Hobbiton to do you a _massive_ favour and risk my life to bloody cross examine a shape shifting deadly dragon on your behalf for questionable pay?” 

“Actually I _do_ mind, hobbit,” he said in his best Thorin voice imitation. “I mind _so_ much that I’ll treat you like the muck on my ridiculously heavy and iron tipped boots and get you to do every demeaning, tedious job that we can come up with. And I won’t even apologize for ransacking your home! You wouldn’t understand my broody pain!”

“Bloody dwarves.”

He was so busy muttering irritably to himself that he didn’t realize there was someone else in the parking lot. 

“Oi, Bert! Get over here.”

“Look at this one, not a bad find.”

“Bit worn down.”

“Needs some work, but it’s a nice catch.”

With a cold clench of fear, he realized they were talking about the van. He nervously peeked through the window to get a glimpse at the owners of the voices.

“Better than those miserably small little cars we’ve been nabbing.”

“Looks like they’ve left their stuff inside.”

“That could fetch a nice price.”

“It should hook on nice and easy to our tow truck, no trouble.”

Trolls! Three, monstrous, ugly trolls were standing just on the other side of the van with the intent of stealing it. And they hadn’t noticed he was standing there. Bilbo did the only reasonable thing he could do in this situation and quietly panicked, trying not to hyperventilate as he slid down the side of the vehicle to make himself as unnoticeable as possible.

With the van blocking him he could hide behind the next gas dispenser until they had left, and avoid all trouble. Certainly, without the van Thorin would give up his heavy handed quest, and Bilbo could be back at home with his tea and his nice fireplace without any more hassling or teasing.

But then what would become of _The Company?_

He could attempt to make a dash to the Diner and alert everyone as to what was going on. After all, three hulking trolls could hardly be stopped by a lone hobbit, he reasoned. But what if the trolls stole the van while he was trying to convince everyone what was happening?

“Ere, just break the window and open the door.”

“What about the keys?”

“Oh come off it, I can hard-wire that thing. Easy.”

They were going for the van _now!_ Before he could talk himself out of it, Bilbo found himself walking around the side of the van. “E-Excuse me.”

“Wot?” 

“Eeep!” the lawyer yelped as a giant meaty hand grabbed him up and held him in it’s fist, bringing him close to the giant, monstrous face of the troll.

“Oi, lookie what I gots!”

“What is it Bert?”

“Some kind of gremlin.”

“Naw, lookit the feet,” the troll swung Bilbo around so he was upside-down, dangling him by his feet with his arms hanging uselessly. His stomach flipped with him, and he had to bite back a wave of nausea.

“That’s a ferret, that is.”

“ _Ferret!?_ ” Now that was just rude. “I beg your pardon, but I am a lawyer-hobbit, and I insist you put me down this instant!” Bilbo lectured, as best he could while being held in the air by his feet by a troll.

“Don’t do it, Bert!” said one of the trolls, smacking Bert as he was about to let Bilbo down.

“But he said—“

“And I’m saying not to! Now lawerobbit, why should we put you down?” The troll glared suspiciously at him while Bilbo tried to wrack his brain for something to say. If he could stall them long enough for the company to investigate his absence…

“Because it’s extremely rude to grab a person up by their feet, and—do you mind!?” The hobbit’s voice spiraled up as the other troll prodded him I the stomach with it’s giant finger.

“Afraid we can’t help you. See, we mean to take this van here, and if we put you down you’ll go and cause a fuss.”

“Van ferrets always cause a fuss,” nodded the third troll, wisely.

“I am _not_ a _ferret!_ ”

“Let’s throw him in the van and eat him later.”

“It’d hardly be a mouthful.”

“Stop! Do you really think you can get away with this?!” cried Bilbo.

“Oh Yeah, if we drive off with the van and we et you, we’ll be fine. No squeaky creature to tell anyone what happened. Nice meal for us.”

“Ohhh no you won’t! You’ll get caught!”

“Caught?”

“It’s just trying to scare ya, Tom.”

“Do you really think a gas station like this wouldn’t have security cameras?” asked Bilbo, fighting back his rising nausea from hanging upside down. “Because it does! In fact, I am certain that the police already have footage of you lot.”

He caught sight of a wide-eyed Kili staring at him from just outside the Diner, and he tried his best to signal _get help_ with just his arms and eyes. Unsure if he was successful, the young dwarf dropped from view.

“Police! Oh no, not that lot. Let’s take the van and go! They can’t catch us.”

“Oh, that won’t stop them,” Bilbo said defiantly. “The van has a tracking device built into it, they’ll know where you go.”

“You’re making that up.” Bert growled, raising the hobbit higher in the air and giving him a shake.

“N-No no, I’m trying to warn you!” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I don’t want you to run off with the van! If you put me down, and leave the van alone they won’t be able to catch you, and you’ll only be charged with minor assault, if even that.”

“Assault?” 

“Yes, picking me up like this! Now, see, if you did take the van and me, that would be grand theft auto, kidnapping and assault. Possibly pre-meditated murder. That’s quite a few more charges and you’d be in very much trouble.”

“He’s making it all up,” said the third troll, but Bert shook his head.

“No, he isn’t. I’ve heard about this stuff before. They’ve got ways of knowing things, they can watch you and then they get ye, before you can do anything about it!”

“Who’s they?”

“The Minas Tirith Police division!” said Tom, eyes widening in fear. “They bring in all kinds of criminals.”

“Ah, you’ve been watching too much telly, ye lug,” said the third troll, punching Tom in the arm. “We ain’t got no fancy Kingdom cops around here.”

“Even worse! You have the Rangers to watch out for,” called Bilbo.

“The what?”

“The rangers! Guardians of the North, descendants of the Dúnedain?” said Bilbo, hoping the trolls had heard if them. “They patrol areas between divisions, like this one.”

“Naw, I don’t believe that,” said the third troll, glaring.

“No, no, I’ve heard of them, Will,” added in Tom. “Think they’re really something.”

“I ain’t never seen no show about Rangers, so they’s can’t hurt me,” declared Bert, motioning with his arm and causing Bilbo to swing through the air, nearly colliding with the troll’s body.

“Oh, they very well can,” Bilbo argued, trying to right himself as best as he could. His heart jumped as he spotted Nori out of the corner of his eye. They better be doing something, he couldn’t stall them forever. And he was certainly not going to be carted off with the van to be eaten by these vile creatures, so they had better help him before his head fell off from all the blood rushing to it. 

“Can not.”

“Can _so!_ In fact, if they found your heinous crimes horrible enough, they could very well take it up with the Grand Jury in Minas Tirith.”

“I don’t care about some grand whatsit—“

“They’d send the Minas Tirith corps to take you back to the city.” 

“Blimey! I don’t want them coming at me!” cried Tom in alarm.

“No one’s going to come at you, you lug! He’s playing with ye. This lawerobbit,” Will advanced on the captive hobbit and poked him harshly in the stomach, causing poor Bilbo to hold on for dear life as his world spun and his stomach churned in protest, “Is making a fool out of you.”

“I-I am merely pointing out that if you go through with this you will end up in a lot of trouble!”

“How’s about we shove the ferret—

“Hobbit!”

“—In the van, drive off with it and et him?”

“What?! No!” cried Bilbo, trying to worm his way out of the stone hard grasp on his lower body in panic. “Weren’t you listening to anything I just said?!”

“Aye, and it made me head hurt,” replied Will.

“I likes your plan, nice and simple,” said Tom, and Bert nodded in agreement.

Bilbo desperately looked around for the dwarves, heart pounding in fear. “You’re making a terrible mistake!”

“It’s so much simpler without all that law and stuff.”

“We’ve been here for months, ain’t no one stopped us yet, ferret,” Bilbo tried to wriggle and kick, but against the might of a mountain troll the hobbit had no chance. They turned back towards the van, and the hobbit’s stomach flipped again, remembering what they said about eating him.

“You have no idea what the punishment for cannibalism—er, consuming a sentient being is!”

“We ain’t gonna be consuming any sennet beans, so what’s it to us, eh?”

“No, you—uuggghh!” Bert closed his hand more firmly around his hobbit captive, squeezing the air right out of Bilbo’s chest and causing his vision to blur from the pressure.

“That’s enough out of you, little ferret thing. Let’s take ‘im and the van and go.”

There was a sudden roar of “Drop him!”

“What?”

“Now!”

Bilbo had never been more glad to see a large group of dwarf metal enthusiasts in his life than in that moment. They charged, guitars blaring, Thorin leading them on with a roar. Dwalin was on his axe, Fili and Kili both wielded their violins, yelling along with their uncle. Bombur pounded away on his drums, the ground shaking from the force of it, accentuated even more by the remaining dwarves stomping along with their iron boots to the beat.

The trolls roared, Bert dropping Bilbo to cover his ears at the attack of sound. Landing in a heap, the hobbit scrambled away as quick as he could, hands and knees stinging from the impact with the concrete and stomach churning alarmingly from being flipped about so.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to himself, slumping back against the side of the van and watching the dwarves face off against the massive beings. The Company was deadly efficient, rocking out with their guitars blaring throughout the gas station, pushing the creatures back with the shear force of their music. The trolls stomped about, cracking the cement in places, but they were no real match for a dwarven metal band. Bilbo clutched his stomach when it gave another lurch. If it came to it, he could always be sick on one of the trolls. 

“May dawn take you all!” cried a voice, and suddenly with a ghostly chorus of voices a crack in the clouds opened up, early morning sunlight spilling out into the gas station. The trolls cried out in fear, trying to run, but were turned to stone, massive bodies freezing into place.

“Well done, well done indeed,” said the rock wizard, walking over to the group.

“Gandalf!” shouted just about everyone. Bilbo’s stomach finally had it, and he turned to be sick on the pavement, miserably wiping at his mouth when he was done. Looking up, he found Balin crouched in front of him.

“You alright there, laddie?” he asked.

“Ohh, just fine,” Bilbo grumbled. The elder dwarf chuckled, patting him on the shoulder.

“Damnit, you blasted rock wizard,” roared Thorin. “Where were you when we were facing off against three massive trolls?!”

“Come now, no harm done. You’ve dealt with it all rather splendidly on your own, there was no need for me to interfere.”

“Gandalf, I nearly got eaten by those things,” snapped Bilbo, rising to his feat. “And you say it was no trouble?”

“Now now, no need for theatrics my good hobbit.”

“Theatrics?!”

“I can’t be watching you lot every minute, now can I? A rock wizard’s job is never done, I had some terribly important business in the arcade to attend to,” He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a small something. “See for yourselves.”

They all stared dumbly at the thing. Eventually Ori cleared his throat. “Is that a…Durin the Deathless plushie?”

“Of course it is,” the wizard ruffled the scribe’s hair and pushing the plushie into the dwarf’s hands. 

“You mean that while a bunch of trolls were trying to steal the van. You were over at the arcade playing at the claw machine game?!” asked Dori, incredulously.

“What you lot need is some group moral,” continued Gandalf, cheerfully ignoring the interruption. “And what better than a mascot to do the job?” He clapped his hands “Now, how about we take a look at that truck of theirs.”

“Bah!” Thorin barked in irritation. “Wizards!”

“Come now, the trolls certainly aren’t going to be using their tow truck any longer, are they?” The dwarves were still muttering about unreliable wizards, by they all made their way over to the other vehicle, a massive black thing the trolls had been driving.

Bilbo spluttered, turning to the wizard. “You’re not suggesting we riffle through their things now that they’ve turned to stone, are you?”

“The trolls stole from others (and probably ate them too) as you very well know. It’s hardly theft. Think of it as re-purposing.”

The hobbit was so upset with the whole thing he stayed outside with his arms firmly crossed, leaving most of the others to invade the truck. 

“Got some new guitar strings,” said Oin happily, emerging from the truck. “Good quality, these. They had a killer amp in there and some sweat speakers.”

“Oh, I am not hearing this.” The lawyer muttered to himself, refusing to watch. 

“Bilbo,” Gandalf walked over to the hobbit, holding a small, acoustic guitar. “I believe this should suit you.”

“Gandalf,” Bilbo said, shooting him a pleading look. “The last time I’ve played a guitar was years ago and you know I was absolute rubbish. Besides, I’m a lawyer, I’m not about to take something that was stolen.”

“I believe that this guitar here, is very old. Thorin and I are taking the other two that are similar, though both are larger and more powerful than this one here. In fact I suspect they may not even be of this age.”

“Telling me it’s an antique is not going to make me take it,” Bilbo tried, worrying his lip. “Shouldn’t it be in a museum, or with the elves?”

“Nonsense, it’s only a six string. You won’t have eves coming after you for it. Now see the strings, they glow blue when orcs are near, and it’s at those times that you want to be _careful_ and stay by the company.”

“I can come up with lyrics!” protested Bilbo, “My voice isn’t much good at singing, but I am not entirely defenseless musically.”

“Oh come now, it would do me great comfort to know that you had this. What if you were separated from the group? Do an old man a favour and carry it with you? For my peace of mind? Your mother was a dear friend of mine and I can’t very well let her only son run off into the wild defenses, now can I?”

“…Fine,” Bilbo grumbled, taking the guitar and glaring half halfheartedly at the old man. “But that was emotional manipulation.”

“Wonderful!” said the wizard beaming. “Now, how about we all head in for something to eat? It’s been a long night.”

Thorin grunted in acceptance and made his way back to the _Roast Mutton_ , the company following in his wake.

“Oh gracious me, the sun!” exclaimed Bilbo in distress. “I’ve stayed up the whole night. Dear me, whatever would the neighbors think, pulling an all nighter—at my age!”

“Aww, ye ain’t that old, laddie,” said Nori, ruffling the hobbit’s hair as he passed.

“I will have you know I am fifty, a perfectly respectable age for a hobbit, thank you. Too old to be behaving like a tween stumbling home in the early hours of the morning, falling asleep in barns or other such shenanigans.”

Bofur grinned at the hobbit. “That sounds like a mighty good time to me.”

“I haven’t pulled an all nighter since my days at University, it’s shameful really.”

“Well, think of it this way, Mr. hobbit. They’ll have the breakfast menu out by now. There’s nothing like good greasy-fried breakfast food to chase all yer problems away!”

 

“Well—That is a very good point.”


	4. Rivendell Jazz Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Encountering trouble on the highway, the dwarves are forced to take an unexpected detour...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late chapter is late. Sorry!
> 
> Songs used:  
> [The Cat and the Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTTwpZ3noFA)

After the whole troll incident, Thorin had relented and allowed the company a whole day of rest, seeing as they had been up the entire night. They set out the next morning, with spirits considerably lifted from a night at a motel and eating a few meals at a table with dishes and everything.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo asked as they made their way out to the van the next early morning. “Won’t someone do something about the trolls?”

“Hmm?” The rock wizard looked over and chuckled at the sight of the three frozen trolls still out there next to the gas station. “Something has already been done to them, wouldn’t you say?”

“I mean are they going to be moved? Only, I’m sure they’re a bit of a hassle to drive around.”

“If the owners of the establishment were bothered, they could call in someone to have them removed. It’s not that uncommon around these parts for these things to happen. If anything, they might even be thankful for their presence. They make quite the landmark, it could very well increase tourism.”

Bilbo glanced up at the wizard. “Isn’t it a bit morbid for Tourism?”

“Our dwarf friends certainly don’t seem to think so,” Gandalf said with a chuckle.

“Like that! Yeah, try to get right in it’s hand.”

“Give me a lift, I wanna sit on its head!”

“Quick! Take a picture, I’m gonna slip!”

Fili and Kili were using the trolls as some kind of jungle gym, climbing all over them and trying to get pictures with their phones. The other dwarves weren’t much better, posing all around and with the things, trying to get better shots than each other. Bofur had climbed up in one of the creature’s half closed palms and was dangling by its fingers.

“Ohh, save me, lads! I’m a goner!” Bofur wailed dramatically, hanging from its grip and swooning.

“Do the mouth! Do the mouth!” called Kili. The hatted dwarf slowly crawled up the arm, wriggling his chest and lower back to fit into the open mouth of the troll. Fili and Kili cheered in delight and started taking pictures.

“Ahhh! Oh, me poor bones. Bifur, look after me hat, will you? Do right by it for this poor, tragically fallen hero. Bombur, I want lot’s o’ drinkin’ at my funeral—and make that cake I love!”

Oin was taking a picture of Gloin grabbing the raised foot of one of the trolls. “My wife should appreciated this,” Gloin said proudly. “Lifting a troll’s foot out of sheer strength!” Oin shook his head but took the picture anyway.

Dwalin was prodding and muttered at the trolls, tapping them threateningly with his axe guitar while Balin watched everyone, taking pictures and chuckling to himself. Dori kept his distance, watching Nori scramble up one with an air of resignation.

“If you fall and hurt yourself, don’t come running to me!” he called to his brother. Nori swung his legs over an arm and hung there upside down.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, sticking out his tongue.

Kili clung onto the back of a troll, arm strung around its neck to take a selfie with the troll’s face in the shot. “Great face there,” he said to the troll. “Raarrrr!! Now we match! Hey Fili, he’s my new bff!”

“Great! You can stay here with him. Looks like I’ll be the only backup guitarist for the band, now.”

“What!?”

“And the only string player,” Fili added thoughtfully, lighting up. “Oh yeah, this is sweet! I’m taking your violin.”

“Noooo! Fili _noo!_ I take it back!”

“It is a great publicity stunt,” Ori added shyly, coming up to Bilbo and Gandalf, fidgeting with his camera. “If we post some of these pictures up on _The Company’s_ website, maybe we can generate some hype and fan support?”

 

 

Dori beamed at his younger brother, “What a smart young lad you’ve turned into, Ori!” The ginger haired dwarf blushed as Dori ruffled his hair. The elder shot a glare back at Nori, “Unlike _some_ people I know.”

“You’re just jealous!” Nori called back, still hanging upside down and blowing a loud raspberry.

“P-perhaps we might be able to use it for some album artwork?” Ori said, glancing at Thorin nervously, who was watching his company.

Bilbo cleared his throat, attracting the stern dwarf’s attention. “You know, a story about how your band managed to defeat three trolls that were being a public menace wouldn’t hurt your reputation. If we’re to go against Smaug, we’ll need all the support we can get from the public.”

The lead vocalist stared at the trolls frowning, before giving a nod. “Alright. Everyone finish up and then we’ll do a group photo.” The dwarves let out a cheer and scrambled around the trolls.

“I can take the picture,” said Bilbo. At Thorin’s dark look he continued. “I _have_ used a camera before, I don’t think I’ll break it. Besides, I’m not even in the band, and you are.”

Thorin looked as if he might argue but passed the camera over, not before giving the hobbit a bit of a warning glare.

In the end they took at least ten pictures of the trolls. First the main band members, then the rest of the crew, and then everyone together. Bilbo had even been dragged into a shot, along with Gandalf who managed to magic the camera to float in mid air to take one of all fifteen of them.

The van pulled out of the stop over, leaving the three stone trolls behind them.

 

 

X|]|[|X

“What’er you hummin’ there, Mr. Hobbit?” Bilbo startled, looking at the hatted dwarf sitting beside him. He hadn’t realized he’d been humming out loud. They were a few days out from the stop in with the trolls, and today Bilbo had found himself seated next to Bofur.

“Ah, just a little something that’s been stuck in my head,” the hobbit explained, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“Well, now you’ve gone and got it stuck in my head too. Best tell me what I’ll be singin’ along to, aye?” Bofur grinned, showing off his large dimples.

“I am sorry!” Bilbo said, mortified. “It’s not really anything, just a few words chasing themselves around in my head to a tune. I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

The dwarf waved his hand, “Oh no ye don’t. That’s too catchy. You’ve gotta tell me what it’s about now.”

Well…” Bilbo started slowly. Hobbit music was very different than the metal of the dwarves. “Something about the man in the moon…”

“Man in the moon, ye say?” said Bofur thoughtfully, humming. “And what does he do?”

“Not quite sure yet,” Bilbo confessed. “He comes down, and gets into some sort of trouble, I think.”

“Well of _course_ he does,” said the dwarf incredulously. “What’s the point of commin’ down if not to get in some trouble? Say,” Bofur grabbed Bilbo’s arm, eyes lighting up. “I think your man in the moon went down to an inn, and got himself a drink. Only he got himself good and proper wasted, he did.”

“What?!” The dwarf outright laughed at the hobbit’s scandalized expression, rocking back in his seat and slapping his leg in glee.

“Hear me out, lad!” Bofur continued, grinning. “How many inns do you think there are up there? Bars? Arcades?” He shook his head sadly. “Not even a TV I’d bet. Poor blight must be feelin’ it something awful.”

Bilbo’s glare turned thoughtful. “He wouldn’t come down for just _any_ old inn, though.”

“Naw, course’ not. It’d have to be a real somethin’ somethin’.”

“Somewhere famous—“

“With famous beer!”

“An inn of old renown,” began Bilbo, lyrics whizzing around in his head. “Where they brewed a beer so brown...”

“The moon comes a rollin’ down the hill—”

“One night to drink his fill!”

They both laughed.

“And then,” said Bofur, hitting his hand lightly against Bilbo’s arm, “He gets himself so good and properly dashed he’s a’ rolling around all over the floor and he starts hallucinating-an’ seeing cutlery movin’ around an everythin’.”

“He thinks they’re dancing!” cried Bilbo.

“’Oi’, says he, ‘it looks like it’s a cat playin’ the fiddle, but I could of sworn it weren’t a minute ago.’”

“And the old cow from outside comes in and starts prancing around.”

“Jumps right over the moon layin’ there on the floor in a stupor.”

“And everyone else is going ‘I want what he’s having!’”

“Aye, we all want to dance like that, too!”

 

**20 minutes later**

 

_Called by the fiddle to the_

_Middle of the muddle where the_

_Cow with a caper sent the_

_Small dog squealing_

_Moon in a fuddle went to_

_Huddle by the griddle but he_

_Slipped in a puddle and the_

_World went reeling_

_Downsides went up-hey!_

_Outsides went wide_

_As the fiddle_

_Played a twiddle_

_And the moon slept till Sterrenday!_

 

“Mahal’s balls,” groaned Dwalin, looking up from where he was polishing his axe guitar. “What are they on about?”

“Singing about the man in the moon,” said Nori, picking his teeth.

 

_Dish from off the dresser pranced,_

_Found a spoon and gaily danced._

_Horses neighed and champed their bits_

_For the bloodshot moon had lost his wits!_

 

“Not bad, that,” the lead guitarist eventually grunted, going back to his work.

“Aye, give it a bit of voltage, maybe some strings, make it a proper sound,” added in Gloin leaning foreword in his seat to join the conversation.

“Not with those lyrics,” grumbled Thorin darkly from in front of them. “The man in the moon. Bah. What kind of a flimsy band would sing about that? Sounds of _elves_ that’s what.”

“I get the feeling it has less to do with elves and more to do with hobbits,” Balin remarked sagely.

“I like it,” Ori said, determinedly. “Maybe it’s based around hobbit legend?”

“It’s fun,” added Kili. “Not properly badass, of course, but still fun!”

 

_Cow jumped over, dog barked wild,_

_Moon lay prone and sweetly smiled._

_Ostler cried “play faster cat!”_

_Because WE ALL WANT TO DANCE LIKE THAT!”_

 

“Will you two knock it off?!” Thorin yelled, glaring at Bilbo and Bofur who had dissolved into a pile of giggles, “You’re distracting the driver.”

“Oh no, I’m doing just fine,” called Dori helpfully from where he was driving the van. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Pardon, yer Oakenshield-ness” Bofur answered, still grinning, cheekily. “Just havin’ a bit o’ a jam session back here.”

 

 

X|]|[|X

The rain had finally cleared up the morning after they left the _Roast Mutton_ and the cheep little motel they had stayed the night, though the sky remained stubbornly overcast for the better part of the next week.

The landscape began to change at a more rapid pace, quickly becoming more rugged and less lush and green. They had left the farmlands and fields of the Shire far behind by now.

The sky seemed strange this far out. Perhaps it was the mountains even now rising in the distance, but to Bilbo it felt odd and dangerous.

His new six-string acoustic at his side made him feel a bit better, even if he knew he was as good as useless playing the thing. At least he could take a swing at something and use it as a blunt weapon if it came to it. Though he didn’t think the band would be very impressed with his abusing an instrument like that. Even if it was elvish.

It was late in the day, the sun a red and orange stain low across the sky from where it peeked out from behind the darkened clouds. The lights on the highway were just beginning to light up as they approached a great freeway junction.

A mass of spiraling ramps and bridges rose in front of them, all branching off down different passes, spinning out in at least four different directions. It loomed in front of the highway, tall and intimidating.

“They don’t have these back in the Shire,” Bilbo said as they approached. So many different roads all branching off and merging with each other all at a breakneck speed. Goodness.

“It’s the Misty Mountain Pass, don’t miss your turn off,” lectured Dori from behind Nori, who was currently the driver for the next eight hours.

“Relax,” said the redhead, waving a hand. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Hang on- did you hear something?” Bilbo said suddenly, straightening in his seat.

“Eh?” grunted Oin from beside the hobbit, turning up his hearing aid.

“Did you hear something?” repeated the hobbit. “I thought it sounded like a…I don’t know. Some great engine of some kind.”

Oin grunted at him “Must just be the lads.”

Bilbo shook his head “I could have sworn…”

“Master Baggins,” Thorin suddenly barked, fixing the hobbit with a glare. “What did you hear?”

“I’m not too certain,” Bilbo began, “I must have just—“

“Can you hear it now?” There was an odd urgency in the dwarf’s voice that had Bilbo scrambling to answer.

“…No. No, it must have—yes! There it is again! Like some beastly scream.”

“I can’t hear—“

The loud, guttural roaring of an engine echoed through the junction, and it was answered by many more sounding all around them.

“Wargs!” Thorin yelled, “Prepare for attack!”

“Wargs? What are wargs?!” squeaked Bilbo, looking around in alarm.

“We’re being chased by an orc pack.” Dwalin said, strapping on his axe.

“Orc Pack?! I though you said it was wargs!?”

“Orcs ride wargs, laddie,” explained Balin.

“But what are—“

An awful screech cut through whatever else Bilbo was going to say, the roaring scream of engines suddenly all around them. From the window he could just make out dark shapes moving down one of the ramps, their headlights and engines distorting its shape.

The sun had fully set, leaving only a slight discolouring in its wake. Lights blurred by as they speed up a ramp, twisting along with the curves of the road.

“Where are they coming from?”

“Can’t tell, everything echoes.”

Suddenly there was a _thump thump thump_ , and looking out the window Bilbo got a view of an incredibly ugly creature seated on what looked like a motorcycle. Though it was no motorcycle he had ever seen before.

Shaped like a cross between a wolf and a boar, the engine snarled and screamed as it speed along beside them, easily keeping pace with the larger, bulkier van. Its passenger was lit up by the passing streetlights and the reddish glow that sprung from the back of the engine of the monstrous vehicle like flames.

“Gandalf! Can’t you do something!?” Dori shouted.

“You’re being hunted!” The wizard thundered, sticking out his bushy eyebrows.

“That’s not helping!” cried Fili.

A blast of sound rent the air, and Bilbo realized even as he covered his ears that they were carrying boom boxes on their shoulders as they rode. Though it was certainly no music they played. Terrible shrieking, screaming noises blared out into the night, sounding like someone had taken a chainsaw to an electric mixer, and then tossed them both into water adding the electric shock to everything else. It was possibly the worst sound he had ever heard in his life.

The wizard stuck his head out of the van window and raised his staff. A great chorus of voices and guitar riffs arose around him in a halo of light and sound, reaching to a crescendo before he brought his staff down sharply, sending the wave of sound back at the orcs. It hit them square on, and they were blown right off the ramp, dissolving in mid-air from the force of it.

“Look out!” Someone shouted.

From above and across several more of the orcs jumped across the ramp ways using the speed and agility of their wargs against the bulky van to maneuver around and between the great junction.

“They’re trying to cut us off!”

“We’ll never make it, they’ve barricaded our turn off.”

“This way!” shouted Gandalf, and suddenly he was at the wheel, sharply yanking it around and sending them down a different road, down, down a spiraling ramp.

“Where are you taking us, wizard?” demanded Thorin.

Gandalf answered by speeding up. They sped down the ramp, narrowly dodging more orcs trying to cut them off at break neck speed. Thorin wrenched open one of the windows and screamed out at them, Dwalin backing him with his axe. The orcs were buffered away from the van, one bouncing off into the curve and the other two swerving into each other, exploding as they collided.

“Hold on!”

Gandalf raised his staff, sending a sharp chord and a screaming of voices out before the van, shielding it from the flames and debris. The ramp straightened out and sped into an intersection, the wizard swerving left, wheels sending out sparks at the speed. An orc overshot behind them, missing the turn and flying off the ramp.

Suddenly they were out of the junction, speeding down a road into a valley. Steep cliff faces sprung up on either side of them, looming suddenly. The harsh engines of the wargs were hot on their tail, the awful noise from the orc’s boom boxes echoing down and through the rock of the narrowing pass.

“If it get’s much closer the van won’t fit!” Balin yelled. Gandalf kept driving, eyes flashing. A sudden steep turn had everyone falling to the left, the few who had opted not to wear their seat belts being thrown about. Bilbo winced as he was pressed against the wall of the van, Oin then Bifur, then Ori all falling against him.

The van straightened out, trees appearing rapidly on either side of them, illuminated by their headlights. The cliff side on their right fell away, and they had a view of the valley. Bilbo gasped, taking in the spectacular waterfall cascading down the far side of the valley, the surrounding forests and a sprawling building nestled in right against the cliff face, elegant and serene, light up by warm, glowing lights.

“Where are we?” asked Thorin, darkly. Gandalf cleared his throat.

“Welcome to the valley of Imladris. Known by some as…”

“Rivendell,” breathed Bilbo, eyes lighting up in delight.

Behind them the roar of the wargs were gaining as they cleared the narrow passage and entered into the valley road proper.

A blare of saxophones cut across the night, barreling into the wargs and knocking them down as if they were mere playthings. The light, musical voices of elves joined in, and squinting, Bilbo could just make out their forms as they flitted along through the trees, easily keeping pace with the speeding vehicles.

 

“ _Elves,_ ” Thorin spat, glaring at the figures in the trees as they ran by.

 

_Thirteen dwarves driving down the roooooad_

_With a hobbit and a wizard_

_Come on_

_Let’s goooooo_

_From where are they coming_

_And where will they gooooo_

_Nobody knows, yeah_

_Nobody knoooows_

_Oooh yeah!_

 

“Mahal have mercy, not _jazz!_ Anything but jazz!” groaned Kili, burring his head in his arms.

“Can’t we turn around?” demanded Gloin. “I’d rather deal with the orcs than _this._ ”

“It’s not even swing or the more tolerable stuff,” said Nori. “It’s bloody _smooth_ jazz.”

 

_Durin’s folk, driving a vaaaaan_

_Down the valley_

_fast as they caaaaan_

_fast as they caaaaan_

_So many beards_

_It’s a dwarven metaaaal_

_Baaaaaand_

 

“Arh! That damn twinkly synth! The lame cymbals!” Oin took his hearing aid out and shoved it in his pocket, “There’s goes the rest of my hearing!”

Gloin and Nori both stuck their heads out of the window, tossing empty cans at the gleeful elves jamming away. They only laughed, easily flitting around the projectiles as they ran through the trees, lightly jumping from branch to branch.

“A merry folk, aren’t’ they?” remarked Gandalf, seemingly oblivious to the mass freak out going on around him from the wheel.

“I’ll give them merry!” Dwalin snarled, leaning out the window and flipping them off, roaring insults in khuzdul.

 

_Thorin and his company_

_Driving on byyyyyyy_

_Got attacked by orcs, yeah_

_We don’t know whyyyyyy_

_Rocking wizard and a_

_Hobbit, toooo_

_What are they gonna_

_What are they gonna_

_Doooooo?_

 

“Wizard,” Thorin growled threateningly. There was a _thump thump_ from the roof of the van that had them looking up and—

“Durin’s beard, they’re on the roof! EMERGENCY!!”

Fili and Kili were hugging each other in terror, Dori was covering Ori’s ears, Bombur looked as if he was going to be sick, and the rest of them were throwing insults and curses. Gloin and Oin were standing on the seats to hit the roof of the van, hoping to dislodge their passengers.

 

_Alright now,_

_Lets go_

_Down to the valley of Rivendeeeeell_

_Where the club is jumping_

_Oh, the club is jumping_

_Can’t you teeeell?_

 

“Make it stop! Make it stop! I don’t wanna go on the quest anymore!” Kili wailed, “I wanna go home!”

Gandalf was chuckling as he drove the van smoothly down the valley path, crossing an elegantly curved bridge lit up by great baubles of light over towards the main building.

Bilbo ignored his dwarven companions, using the chaos to climb closer to the window. Pressing his nose against the glass, the hobbit laughed in delight as Rivendell opened before him, warm light a comforting glow, colouring the waterfall in the distance. They passed through a series of archways, vines and hanging plants trailing off everything with charming fairy lights strategically placed to make everything have an ethereal glow.

The van slowly came to a stop in a rounded court, a great staircase leading up to another archway and beyond that a set of beautiful double doors. A large, many-tiered fountain was in the middle of the court, the soothing sound of water mingling with a faint piano in the warm night.

The Company piled out, forming a defensive circle in front of the van, instruments clutched close as if expecting attack at any moment. Bilbo walked out of the van as if in a dream, completely oblivious to his companions, mouth open and neck straining as he tried to take everything in, turning to get a full view.

“Simply enchanting,” he breathed. Gandalf chuckled beside him, placing a warm hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“Someone’s coming!”

Bilbo was suddenly yanked back, Bofur dragging him into the middle of the circle. An elf ascended gracefully from the stairway, something inherently regal in the way he held himself.

“Lord Elrond,” Gandalf greeted, bowing his head in respect. The elf smiled at him.

“Mae govanne, Mithrandir,” He turned to the rest of the dwarves still in their defensive huddle. “Welcome, Company of Thorin Oakenshield, to Rivendell Jazz Club.”

Bilbo could hear someone whimpering.

 

 

X|]|[|X

They were shown to their rooms by Lindir, a somewhat harried elf who lead them through the club, up through the lounge, past the dinning areas and into the guest wing. Everything was enveloped in a comfortable mood lighting reminding Bilbo very much of his own hobbit hole back in the Shire.

There were wide, open windows letting in the warm night air and showing off the spectacular view of the valley. Music could be heard drifting up from the club proper outside, the sudden rise of a trumpet or piano, and the steady tempo of the beat along side it.

“These rooms you may use for the duration of your visit,” said the elf with a sweep of his arm, indicating the rooms off of the hallway. “Dinner will be served in the Dining and Lounge Bar. Your presence is humbly requested in an hour’s time. I will return to escort you.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary!” Bofur said quickly, the rest of the dwarves either muttering or glaring along

“Nevertheless, my Lord Elrond wishes it,” Lindir said, clearly none too pleased with the situation himself. He crinkled his nose, “May I recommend making use of the bathing facilities you’ll find in your rooms before dinner. More appropriate clothes have already been laid out for you. It would be most agreeable to everyone.”

The dwarves weren’t sure whether to be more insulted or delighted.

“Now we know how to piss them off,” grinned Nori, chortling to himself and rubbing his hands gleefully.

“Oh aye,” added Bofur, “Lads, be on your best behavior tonight! Got to impress the elves, ayyyye?”

Bilbo shook his head, “Dwarves,” and slipped down the hall to pick out a room. It was beautiful of course, with a wide window leading onto a small balcony, and tasteful artwork depicting the great elven epics of ages long past. There was a soft, thick carpet and hardwood furniture, a plush armchair in front of an electric fireplace and a wide TV screen above it.

The hobbit cooed in delight as he saw the bathroom, complete with fluffy towels, all the soaps and shampoos you could ever wish for and best of all, a bathtub Jacuzzi!

Oh yes, Bilbo found the Jazz Club to be most agreeable, indeed.

While the hobbit was enjoying his soak, the dwarves had also decided to bathe. In the outdoor fountain they had parked beside earlier.

There was an awful lot of yelling and laughing and wresting, the Company using the fountain as more of a swimming pool than anything else. Poor Lindir was run ragged in only fifteen minutes, finding clothes strewn everywhere, large puddles all over and reports of nude dwarves running wild and spewing obscenities in their aggressive language. He knew it would take many days of private mediation to fully erase the sights and sounds of that night, disrupting the eternal calm and peace of the Jazz Club.

By the time Bilbo had finally parted with the bath and was sitting in front of the little fireplace, drying his hair and flipping through a coffee table book of _Lost Cities of Beleriand_ , at least two dozen elves had been inflicted with the sight of streaking dwarves running amuck through their halls, shouting out dwarven battle cries and shamelessly flaunting their nudity.

Finding his clothes gone and beautiful elvish robes laid out for him on the bed was a pleasant surprise, though the hobbit did feel a bit uncomfortable knowing someone else was washing his things. Bilbo’s father had always impressed the importance of cleaning up after one’s self on his son as a basic courtesy to others.

Though he was thankful to know everything would be getting a proper wash. It had been at least two weeks since they set out and in all that time they had only stopped at a motel once long enough to use a laundromat.

Poking his head out of his room, Bilbo padded down the plush hallway, finding himself the only occupant. A quick check to his watch showed he was exactly one minute early for when they were to be escorted to dinner.

Soon enough a different elf appeared and nodded to him. “If you’ll follow me, Master Halfling.”

The lawyer cast a glance back at the other rooms. “I beg your pardon, but would you know what’s happened to my companions?” The elf visibly paled, before smoothing out his expression.

“Lindir is already seeing to them,” replied the elf.

“Oh, dear me, I’m not late, am I?” asked the hobbit, worried that he had blown any chance of a good impression. “It was nearly impossible to leave that wonderful bathtub, even with the promise of food.”

“Not at all, you are exactly on time,” said the elf. “Your companions were merely…overzealous.”

“Overzealous?” Bilbo repeated. “How do you mean...” Bilbo trailed off as the elf pushed open the doors to the Dining Lounge and Bar, a solid wall of sound hitting him. There were the dwarves, seated (more or less) at a table, all yelling and shouting and laughing loudly at each other.

The hobbit groaned, dropping his head in his hands.

 

 

X|]|[|X

Dinner was a tense affair. The dwarves had determined to make as much of a nuisance of themselves as they possibly could.

“Excuse me, my good elf,” called Bofur, waggling his eyes brows at an attendant. “What are these things here?”

The elf had a pained expression, “Those are your eating utensils. They are forks.”

“Ooh, ye don’t say. Ain’t never seen these before,” the dwarf chuckled, picking the fork up by the pronged end, “Must be reeeal fancy.” Bilbo could see a vein in the elf’s face twitch and he sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes.

Food was tossed around, Oin, Gloin and Bifur were completely ignoring the cutlery using their hands only to eat, while Nori and Dwalin were using the utensils with unnecessary force, making eye contact with an elf before violently decimating something on their plate. Bofur was happy to use all of his cutlery the exact _wrong_ way, exclaiming about how civilized the elves were the whole time and saying he’d show all of his friends back at home how elves ate. Kili was trying rather badly to flirt with any elf that came near, though none of them seemed very impressed with his efforts.

Bilbo was gleefully told _all_ about the fountain incident, and was all the more grateful he had gone and bathed in his rooms than followed the dwarves.

“Best wash I’ve ever had in my life!” declared Gloin, grinning.

“Aye,” added Nori, “We’ll have to come back and do it again sometime, eh?”

Off to the side, Lindir, now with mysterious stain marks on his robes and his perfect hair in a mess, visibly paled at the mention of them returning.

“Where’s the meat?” asked Dwalin, searching through the dishes laid out before them.

“There ain’t none,” said Bofur, shaking his head. “He said it was vegan fare.”

“Oh Mahal!”

Bilbo rather liked it. It was certainly different, but very tasty all the same, appeasing his appetite but not making him feel uncomfortably full. It left him with a sense of well being and general health and he could only admire the skill that must have gone into it. Bifur seemed to be the only other person enjoying the meal, as he was eating away at the vegetables with gusto. Along with…goodness, was that some kind of shrub he was eating? Yes, well.

Thankfully their host Lord Elrond was seated at the far end of the table, Gandalf and Thorin on either side. Elrond and Gandalf were exchanging pleasant conversation, though Thorin looked as if he had swallowed a lemon and kept shooting dark glances at everyone and everything that so much as moved.

“Of course, dinner jazz for dinner,” Dori muttered to himself unhappily, looking over at the elvish musicians playing on the small stage.

“I don’t think I can stand much more of this,” Ori said, eyes wide and rubbing his arm anxiously. “This music is just too, too…argh!”

Bombur patted the scribe in sympathy, “I’m even loosing my appetite, I’ve only managed three platefuls of food.”

“There’s only one thing for it, lads!” Bofur jumped up and climbed onto an adjacent table, posing dramatically before launching into song.

_There’s an inn of old renown!_

Bilbo’s head jerked up from where he was staring dreamily out the window at the waterfall, face reddening in mortification as he realized what was happening.

“Come on, you all know it!” encouraged the hatted dwarf. The rest of the company gave a cheer and joined in, banging their glasses along with the beat.

 

_Where they brew a beer so brown_

  
Moon went rolling down the hill

  
One Hevensday night

  
To drink his fill!

 

“Why?” Bilbo asked, burying his head in his arms miserably as they sang the song he and Bofur had written earlier. “ _Why?_ ”

At least they all thought it was a good song. Even Thorin seemed to enjoy it, though Bilbo supposed that would extend to anything that was used against elves in one way or another.

When the song was finally over and Bofur stopped prancing merrily on the table, Bilbo received a few hearty pats on the back for his contribution to the lyrics, before a minor food fight broke out. Luckily, it seemed they had the good sense to leave Elrond out of it, though the same could not be said of the increasingly flustered Lindir.

Bilbo slid to his feet, done with dwarves for the day. On his way out he stopped by the visibly twitching Lindir. “I’m really sorry about this,” he said. “You should have seen what they did to my house. They completely broke the plumbing and ate absolutely everything. Tossed my cutlery around and sang about it, even.”

The elf gave a shudder, and Bilbo gave him a pat on the arm before leaving the Dinning Lounge. Eventually he wandered out onto a small, balcony overlooking the falls. It was beautiful. He stood there for some time, reveling in the warm, fresh night air and the silence only broken by the waterfall and crickets in the distance.

“Master Baggins,” Bilbo started and turned from where he was gazing out over a balcony at the valley, finding Lord Elrond himself approaching.

Bilbo scrambled to give slight bow, hoping to make a good impression with their generous host. “Good evening, Lord Elrond.”

“Not with your companions?” said the elf, casting a glance back at the building behind them.

“Ah ha, no,” Bilbo said, blushing in embarrassment. “No, I can’t say I understand what they find so disagreeable. Rivendell truly is lovely, and I simply can’t thank you enough for your hospitality.”

The elf smiled at him, leaning out over the railing. “The Club has not seen a hobbit for many a long year, it is good to hear that it is to your liking.”

“Oh well, I think any hobbit would love it here. We are terribly found of comfortable things, and the view is simply spectacular!”

Elrond hummed. “I have heard that hobbits are surprisingly resilient creatures,” Bilbo beamed at the unexpected compliment, bouncing on the heels of his feet in pleasure. “I’ve also heard that they are creatures of the hearth and _home_ ,” he said, giving the hobbit a significant look. “Which is what has me puzzled at finding one here, in the company of a dwarven metal band no less.”

Bilbo clicked his tongue, irritation flaring up. He smiled pleasantly, and bounced on his heels. “And _I’ve_ heard that one should never ask an elf for advice, for they will say both yes and no in response.”

The feeling of smug satisfaction at having talked back to an elf lasted for all of one second, before it caught up to him. Eyes widening, he silently cured his Took side, panicking at the thought that he had just insulted his host. That was the height of bad manners! Oh, they were going to get kicked out. That was it, he was going to be thrown into the waterfall for back talking the elf Lord.

Elrond was gazing at him with an unreadable expression, and before Bilbo could stutter and apology the elf broke into a fond smile.

“You are very welcome to stay here, if you choose, Master Baggins.”

“Oh…oh! R-Really?!”

The elf only smiled wider at Bilbo’s expression, nodding along in confirmation. “Indeed. Perhaps I could even show you our music library, as you seem quite taken with jazz.”

“T-That’s very kind of you,” stuttered the hobbit, completely blindsided. “And truly it would be wonderful. This is just the music for my little office back in the Shire! But, I’m afraid I’ve already given my word to help these dwarves. And a Baggins never goes back on their word. Though I will admit your offer is terribly tempting.”

“My offer was not meant to extend only to the immediate future. You are very welcome to stay here for as _long_ as you like, whenever you would like. And I do mean that, even if you wished to stay for the rest of your years, Rivendell Jazz Club will welcome you gladly.”

Bilbo could only gap at the elf in amazement, stuttering helplessly in the face of such unexpected kindness. The Elrond bestpwed the hobbit one more warm smile before turning and making his way back inside, leaving the gob smacked lawyer gaping after him. How long he would have stood there is uncertain, but he was called back to himself by a loud harrumphing, and he caught sight of Thorin glaring at him from the archway leading back to the club proper. The dwarf scowled darkly and then left, stalking back inside.

Well.

Bilbo gave a heavy sigh and rested his weight back on the railing, gazing down at the waterfall and the valley below. Gandalf found him there some time later.

 

“Why, Bilbo Baggins,” chuckled the rock wizard, coming to stand beside the lawyer. “Whatever has happened to you?”

“I…I don’t understand it,” began Bilbo, shaking his head. “Lord Elrond has invited me to stay here, _indefinitely_ , if I wish.”

“You must have made quite the impression.”

“But I _didn’t!_ ” Bilbo cried, eyes wide with confusion. “He-well,” Bilbo coughed and looked down at his toes, ears turning a bright red. “He _may_ have insinuated that a hobbit’s place was at home, and I _may_ have insinuated that he stick his advice in a certain uncomfortable place—and then he bloody asks me to move in! Gandalf! What happened?!”

“Now now, no need for all that. Lord Elrond is very old and very wise, and I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“But I was rude to him!” Bilbo all but wailed.

“And perhaps that was why he thought you would be good for Rivendell,” said the wizard, eyes twinkling.

Bilbo huffed. “Oh please, if he wanted rude guests he should have made his offer to Thorin. I’m sure that lot would be more than pleased to be rude to him as much as he could want.”

Gandalf just laughed merrily and clasped the hobbit on the shoulder before bidding him goodnight, leaving Bilbo alone on the balcony and just as confused as before.  
Wandering the club before he went back to his room, Bilbo thought to himself that a place like this would be an ideal place to holiday, without forgoing the comforts of home.

Even if he wouldn’t take Elrond up on his more than generous and clearly undeserving offer now, perhaps he might on the way back. For a week or so, at least.

 

 

X|]|[|X

“Psst! Bilbo! Lawyer, wake up!” Bilbo blinked awake, finding Nori leaning over his bead and poking him in the face.

“Nori, what..?”

“We’re leaving!”

“What? Now? It’s not even dawn.”

“That’s the point,” replied the dwarf before darting back to the door. “You’ve got five minutes,” he said, sliding out the door.

Grumbling, Bilbo pulled himself out of the impossibly comfortable bed, mourning the lack of being so comfortable for the seeable future. Who knows how long he’d be stuck on this quest, devoid of basic necessities like a lush armchair or a bath. Not to mention fresh, high quality cappuccinos and tea. Pulling out his phone, he took a quick picture of the room, wanting to remember it when they were back on the highway in a cramped RV.

Thankfully his clothes had already been cleaned and returned, folded neatly by the door. Quickly packing his bags and giving his face a quick scrub, he dragged his bag out the door and met most of the company already in the hall.

He continued to be in a bad mood as they all ‘sneaked’ down the halls, the dwarves’ iron boots and equipment making an awful racket to a hobbit, not to mention the bickering and muttering about elves and jazz.

“Is it really necessary to leave at 4AM in the morning?” asked Bilbo once they were outside and piling into the van, yawning.

“Yes,” Thorin growled, “It is beyond necessary.”

“Aye, don’t want a bloody sing-off like that welcoming ceremony of theirs,” said Dwalin gruffly, waiting for everyone else to get in first, acting as a rear guard in case any rouge elves with musical intensions showed up. “You can sleep in the van all you want, just get moving _now_.”

The dwarves seemed to be either extremely on edge and flinching at every little sound, or half asleep. Ori was practically hanging off of Dori, only wearing a hoodie over his pajamas, and Fili and Kili were all riled up, excited at the chance to ‘escape’ from an elven fortress.

“Guess who ate a whole tub o’ ice cream?” asked Bofur, nudging the hobbit as he plopped down in the seat in front of him, jerking his head in the brother’s direction. Bilbo shook his head.

“I would have thought they’d have raided the alcohol.”

“Well we _all_ did that!” Bilbo groaned even as Bofur laughed. “But why stop there?”

“I don’t want to know about this,” The hobbit muttered into his hands, “I’m supposed to be representing you legally, this is _not_ helping.” Bofur only grinned, somehow making the flaps of his hat go up and down.

“That’s everyone,” said Dwalin, entering the van and shutting the door. Thorin nodded to Balin, who started the van and began to drive out through the club.

“Where’s Gandalf?’” asked Bilbo, suddenly realizing they were short one rock wizard.

“He said he’d meet us,” Bombur said, leaning over. Bilbo was doubtful, but only a minute later the van stopped suddenly and Gandalf entered, closing the door behind him.

“Did everyone enjoy their stay?” asked the wizard, eyes twinkling as he took in the dwarves’ scowls and dark muttering. He took a seat beside the hobbit near the back of the van, seeming far too pleased with himself.

“Well lads,” said Nori as the van crossed over the bridge. “At least we’re set for basic necessities for the rest of our journey.”

Bilbo didn’t understand why they all broke out laughing at the time, but he later found out they had stolen tons of toilet paper and soaps and other easy to grab things, all stacked at the back of the van.


	5. Overhill and Underhill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mountain road proves to be more dangerous then expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:  
> [The Goblin King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91hIz-YPsII)
> 
> Bilbo's first song - [On horseback](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hj_jx7hYmI4)
> 
> Gollum's first song - [O Willow Waly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_annB8AsLcI)
> 
> Gollum's second song - [Once upon a time...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyOENpwub74)
> 
> Bilbo's third song - [Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KovsxzJMDwE)
> 
> Bilbo's fourth song - [Yellow Submarine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kr2KkRzS8lE)

As if picking up on Bilbo’s bad mood, the weather took a turn for the worse again, dark clouds rolling in and a sudden chill that was unusual for mid August battered them around. The orcs that were hunting them seemed to have either been thrown off or defeated by the elves, as there was neither sight nor sound of the horrible engines or their equally horrible riders.

Taking the correct turn on the freeway junction this time, the van sped towards the Mist Mountain Roadway, and the massive, looming mountain range it as named after. Bilbo had heard about the Misty Mountains. The main north-south mountain range on the map, the mass of sharp, jagged, unforgiving rock had been resurrected ages ago by the Dark Lord to stop the Valar from crossing. There were some passes of course, but that did not change the fact that to cross these mountains took a certain kind of wariness and extreme caution.

Harsh terrain aside, it was known for having inexhaustible amounts of precipitation from rain to hail to snow to mist, and then there was the fact that all throughout it were scattered nests of goblin dwellings. Yes, most would think twice about crossing such a potentially deadly pass, let alone in the middle of a storm.

The dwarves, however, did not seem to share this sentiment.

“Everyone hold on,” Bofur shouted cheerfully from where he was driving the van. “Do up yer seat belts, tie down your belongings, keep yer instruments close and the beer closer, folks, we’re entering the Misty Mountain Roadway!”

The Misty Mountain Roadway would take them through the mountains and drop them off on the eastern side. From the looks of the dark tunnel mouth ahead, Bilbo began to worry that the dwarves were serious about the road going _through_ the mountain, not just along it. Hobbits preferred to live underground, true. But near the surface and surrounded by grass and living thing things. Not ancient rock and harsh stone.

“We’re not goin’ to let a bunch o’ rain bring us down, are we!?” Shouted Bofur.

“NOOOO!!”

“BOOOOO!” “Are we gonna let some rocky ol’ road slow us down?!!”

“NOOOO!!”

“So let’s do this!”

“Onward!”

“Baruk Khazâd!!” And with that, the RV plunged forward into the dark mountain tunnel, leaving only the lingering sounds of their yells and the tire marks in the muddy road behind.

 

X|]|[|X

The long tunnel ran for what felt like hours to a nervous Bilbo, but was in truth only about twenty or so minutes. Lights had been set up along the solid rock walls, but through time or negligence or the harshness of the wild many had gone out, and all they had was the steady twin headlights of the van to guide their way through.

It was horribly claustrophobic as the van barely cleared the height regulations, and it was altogether one of Bilbo’s least favourite experiences in his life up to that point, feeling the van rumble and lurch over the slightly uneven ground, the jagged walls of the tunnel barely a foot away from the side of the van. Technically two vehicles could pass at the same time should one come from the other direction. Though that said nothing of it was safe or not. Nor if one or both were vans or trucks. The company seemed utterly unfazed. If anything, they seemed to relish it.

“It’s great to be back underground again!” said Gloin contentedly.

“Aye, nothing says home quite like a mountain.” Balin agreed, chuckling. While dwarves did not live exclusively in mountains, they did tend to prefer being underground as much as possible and surrounded by hard rock and stone.

When they finally cleared the tunnel the company broke out into a course of cheers, shouting something fearsome in khuzdul. Bilbo had thought that the worst was over and the rest would be much safer than that awful tunnel.

As soon as he caught a glimpse out the window he quickly changed his mind.

The Misty Mountain Roadway had apparently been built with little to no regard to the laws of gravity. Safety seemed to be a laughable concept. They were up dizzyingly high, the road barley clinging to the side of the mountain as it twisted and turned up and up, following all the many natural sharp edges of the mountain.

Bilbo’s stomach had been left behind at the first awful, swerving turn, and he was clutching at his seat belt desperately, asking himself why oh _why_ had he ever left his cozy little office in Hobbition? Surely he would die out here, fallen down some abyss and dashed on the rocks below.

The van rocked violently back and forth as they drove up the rugged mountain path, climbing higher and higher amongst the jagged rocks. Rain and wind was pelting against the glass, whipped against it by the force of the wind that was only increased in intensity the higher they climbed.

“How on earth did this road clear safety regulations?!” Bilbo yelled, voice barely audible over the sound of the tires and the roar of the weather. “It’s a hazard! And what if someone comes the other way? There’s barely space for one vehicle, let alone two!”

Nori turned around to grin at him the hobbit from his seat. “Safety regulations? Naw, law don’t run out here in the wilds.” He said, waving his hand dismissively.

Bilbo spluttered indignantly, “O-of course the law still runs. It’s the _law!_ That’s what it _does_. It runs!”

“Aye lad,” added Balin, smiling sympathetically at the lawyer’s scandalized expression, “But it’s not necessarily enforced.”

“The wild has it’s own laws,” said Nori. “No offense to yer livelihood.”

“Well. I think someone should do something about this awful path! There is no way that this is the only east-west road over the mountains!”

“Well, there is another. The pass of Caradhras is further south, but it’s far more dangerous than this. Snowed in for three parts of the year, and the rest is just barely passable. There’s always the threat of an avalanche no matter when you go.”

“How does anyone travel?”

“Most take the Redhorn. That goes along the bottom of the Misty Mountains near Rohan and Isenguard.”

“Or they just take the low path,” said Nori. “It’s just a little ways south of here and is perfectly safe and regulated.”

“What?” said Bilbo. “Are you telling me we could be right now taking a nicely paved and perfectly safe road over these mountains instead of this?”

“It is slower,” said Nori with a shrug. “And we’re in a bit of a hurry to get to Erebor. Before the Durin’s day concert and all.”

“So wait a minute, we’re crossing a hazardous, rickety road in a thunderstorm—because to take the safe route would take more time?”

“That’s right.” Bilbo groaned and shut his eyes, resisting the urge to bash his head into the wall.

“Why? _Why?!_ I don’t bloody believe this…”

Lightening flashed across the sky, a deafening clash of thunder following immediately after. The constant barrage from the wind and the rain was now coming down from every direction and speed. Bilbo’s stomach lurched as the van wobbled, unsteady under the onslaught and the unstable mountain path.

Suddenly, the van gave a mighty lurch, and there was the horrible sound of rock cracking and splitting. To their right, a massive form could be seen breaking off from the mountain, coming to life and crashing towards them.

“Everyone hang on!” someone yelled.

“Well bless me,” Bofur’s eyes had grown wide, “the legends are true. Giants! Stone Giants!”

Everyone was shouting. The whole mountainside lurched and rose, and with a pang of horror, Bilbo realized they were actually on a Giant. The two creatures were completely oblivious to their unwilling passengers and cared only for battling each other, flowing chunks of stone or swinging punches and horribly jostling the van and the road around it.

“Go, go, go!!” The van’s wheels spun and slipped over the rocks, speeding for the quickly disappearing solid ground. Barely managing to make to gap from giant back to the mountain road, everything tilted violently to the side, throwing everyone across the inside of the van and tilting the vehicle by a 90 degree angle. Bilbo hung by his seat belt, watching dizzily as the door across the row from him was now below him instead of to his side, gravity shifting with the van.

Something heavy clucked at his side, and before he knew what had happened his seat belt clicked open. Stomach lurching, he dropped towards the door, landing against it heavily with a panicked shout. Small as a hobbit was, the impact with the door was enough that it flew open, and before Bilbo knew it the freezing cold rain was pelting at his face and his legs were flying out behind him.

“—gins!”

“Bilbo!”

“Quick, grab him!”

Dazedly, he realized he was hanging out the side of the now toppled van, holding on only by his fingers to the frame of the door. Heart pounding in his ears he blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the rain flying into his face from the whistling wind. He made the awful mistake of looking down, and his stomach plummeted straight down the crippling, dizzying height he found himself angling precariously over.

“Bilbo! Hobbit, here!”

Forcing his head away from the image, he found Bofur and Dwalin balancing in the doorway, reaching out for him.

“Come on lad, grab my hand!” Dwalin tried to take a step closer, but the whole van gave a worrying lurch as more weight was put on it’s toppled side, hanging half on half off of the cliff edge.

Oh dear.

Bilbo gritted his teeth and forced his hand up, trying to reach Bofur’s. He just managed to brush it with the tips of his fingers when the adjustment of weight caused the front of the van to slide forewords an inch further off the edge, yells coming from the van in response. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Never had he thought he would die way up in the mountains, from a great fall and a run-down van.

“Everyone back! Get to the far side of the van!” came Gandalf’s voice. He didn’t suppose they would ever sing about such a death, anyhow. A little hobbit lawyer who had a run of bad luck and no sense to know when to say no to a bunch of dwarves in a metal band. His Baggins relatives would scoff about propriety and that he should have known better than to agree to such foolishness as an adventure with a bunch of metal artists in the first place. Even his Took relatives would be disappointed that he had had such an inglorious end.

And then Lobelia would move into Bag End and take all of his silver spoons and his mother’s best tea sets.

Thorin was suddenly there, snapping Bilbo out of his terror induced daze, taking the place of Bofur and Dwalin. The dwarf reached down, and with one powerful arm grabbed the poor hobbit and dragged him up into the van, grunting in effort.

The van gave a worrying lurch, laying on its side with half of it hanging over the edge of the road, wheels spinning uselessly in the air. Gandalf was muttering something, his staff glowing and a smattering of voices surrounding him, keeping the van from slipping any further off of the road.

“Everyone out of the van!” bellowed Thorin, releasing Bilbo’s wrist and wrenching the door shut behind him. Moving to the back of the van, Fili pulled open the side door that was now above them, clamoring up and climbing out on top. Everyone else followed, Gandalf going last to keep the van stable as long as possible.

They were all soaked within seconds, the rain still coming down as hard as ever even as the thunder and lightening seemed to be flowing the giants, moving back in the direction they had come.

“I thought we’d lost our lawyer there,” Dwalin said after a moment.

“He should never have come,” snarled Thorin, glaring at the hobbit. “He’s been lost ever since he left home. He’s been nothing more than a burden.”

X|]|[|X

“I don’t know if I’d want another car comin’ our way or not,” said Bofur, hitching his backpack and equipment higher in his back. “I mean, they might give us a drive, but on the other hand we might get run over or squashed into the wall, so.”

Bilbo pushed his wet, dripping bangs away from his face without comment, eyes downcast and a pinched look to his mouth. Oh boy, thought Bofur. Thorin went too far that time.

It was hardly the hobbit’s fault that the van had capsized. They all had been thrown around the van, falling on everything and anything and everyone and anyone. Bilbo just got unlucky. If anyone was to blame, in Bofur’s opinion, it was whoever had left the door unlocked. But just as likely, the locks had been switched off accidentally in the whole stone giant chaos. Better yet, it was the fault of the stone giants and the weather for causing all the trouble in the first place.

So really, it was nobody’s fault. Taking a van over the High Pass might have not been the best of ideas either.

Thankfully the van hadn’t fallen over the side. Once they were out of it and back on solid, if not soaking wet and muddy ground, they took stock of the damage. The van was heavy, and laying on its side, hanging halfway over the edge was not the most cooperative of positions if they were to right it again. The rain wasn’t helping much either.

Gandalf told them that he _might_ be able to right it, but it would take time and a considerable amount of patience. He was a rock wizard after all, not a van flipper. Thorin had barked at growled at him and everyone, obviously sour about the delay and the idea of having to be patient about something. So eventually they had agreed to take everything they absolutely needed out of the van (instruments, equipment, bags, food, etc.) and carry it with them while they walked off to find shelter. And efficiently leave the wizard behind to fix the van.

Thorin was in such a dark mood about the delay that he had declared they would continue on foot all the way to Erebor if that was what it took, and Gandalf could catch up to them when he had fixed the van.

The rock wizard had told Thorin to sod off then and let him work, clearly displeased with the dwarf for taking his frustration out on everyone and especially on the hobbit, who clearly had no fault in the whole incident. As predicted, Thorin didn’t take to kindly to that, and had proceeded to bite off the heads off anyone that so much as looked at him for more than a few seconds, commanding the company forward on the road without a backward glance at the rock wizard, scowling at the toppled van in the rain.

Honestly, Bofur wouldn’t be surprised if the wizard decided they weren’t worth the trouble and up and left them at this point. Let it never be said that Thorin Oakenshield was much of a one for interacting with other living beings in a fair and reasonable manner. He was a good dwarf, of course. One of the best, really. But he was absolute rubbish at dealing with feelings.

Looking at the strained expression of their hobbit lawyer and the small, hunched set of his shoulders was certainly proof of that.

 

X|]|[|X

Feeling a warm weight on his shoulder, Bilbo looked up and saw Balin giving him a smile. “Don’t mind Thorin now, lad,” he said, squinting through the rain. “He’s always had a rough way of showing concern.”

Giving a bit of a shrug, the hobbit muttered a “Thanks”, watching the elder dwarf make his way up to the front of the line. He sighed. Now it looked like the whole company thought he was weak. Really though, what had he done to truly help the dwarves? Stall with the trolls? There was that. But perhaps if someone else had been getting gas in the first place they would have been able to fight them off or call for backup much faster.

He glared up at the form of Thorin at the head of the line, blinking rain out of his eyes. What really stung, Bilbo supposed, was that Thorin had only said what Bilbo himself had been fearing for a while now. He’d always wanted to go on adventures when he was a tween, to do something worthy of song, something exciting and dangerous. But after first his father than his mother died, it seemed as if that side of him had faded to be replaced by the need to take comfort from propriety and simple, safe, perfectly respectable pursuits.

Perhaps his chance was really gone for good. Maybe if he had still been a tween when the dwarves had come calling he would have been more apt. But as it was, he was soaking wet, freezing, and just sick of dwarves and the impulsive, dangerous lifestyle, the lack of thinking before acting and all the aggression and yelling. His Took side was just tired, and the Baggins side was firmly insisting that nothing good would come from dealing with the likes of Thorin and if he had any sense at all left in him he should make his way back to Rivendell and hole up there.

After all, Bilbo was a Baggins of Bag End, and no proper Baggins would stand for being belittled and yelled at in such a rude and unapologetic fashion. Here he was, doing the dwarf a huge favour and he still has the audacity to treat him like some burden. Bilbo glared, clutching at the straps of his backpack. It wasn’t as if Bilbo was in need of the case, or the money. He had comfortable amounts of both back at home. 

There was the issue of the signed contract, though. Blast and botheration. Though really, there was no reason the dwarves couldn’t pick up another lawyer in Laketown. If he could remember his geography it was a human city, and really a human would probably be more agreeable to the stupid lead vocalist than a ‘burdensome hobbit’, so everyone would be happy and Bilbo could stop getting his head bitten off and go home where things are comfortable and reasonable and leave sleeping dragons lie and all that. Literally.

Perhaps the Chubb-Boffins case of the misplaced cow was still waiting for him back in Hobbiton?

It wasn’t as if he’d been paid yet, anyway. Well, aside from free meals and using the van facilities. Besides, he’d taken to buying the younger dwarves (Fili, Kili and Ori) junk food whenever they had stopped at a supermarket store for more hotdogs or beans, so perhaps that cancelled out the travel expenses?

He had worked himself into such a state that by the time they found a cave of some sorts just off the road, the hobbit immediately made his way to the back wall, plopped down his bag and got ready for bed, resolutely ignoring everyone and laying down on his sleeping bag facing the wall.

His father Bungo had always said that both his wife and son had a dramatic streak. But Bilbo didn’t care about that. He was too busy feeling steadily more and more sorry for himself and cursing that wretched dwarf vocalist and his bloody sob-story and for ever making him care so very much about a rag-tag group of dwarves in the first place, especially if he was to be treated like some useless baggage the whole time.

“Pssst. Bilbo? You awake?” Bilbo opened his eyes and turned over, spotting the friendly face of Bofur leaning over him. Everyone had gone to sleep, making themselves as comfortable as they could on the hard, slightly damp rocky ground. The dwarf held out a bowl of food to him.

“You didn’t have any dinner, so Bombur saved you some. Here.” He considered refusing and going back to his nice sulk, but just then his stomach gave a growl and he patted it sheepishly. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothin’,” The dwarf said, waving him off.

Straightening up, Bilbo sat against the rock wall, Bofur shuffling over beside him as he ate a cold bowl of baked beans with chunks of sausage in them. They were leftovers from yesterday, hastily reheated with a small gas stove in the back of the van. Though it wasn’t a proper meal, having a full stomach was a great comfort to any hobbit, and many would swear that there was simply no doing anything on an empty stomach. Bilbo almost immediately felt better after the first few bites.

“You alright?” asked Bofur, nudging the hobbit with his shoulder. Pausing for a moment in his eating, Bilbo let out a sigh.

“Yeah. I’m alright.” “That’s a relief,” said Bofur, smiling. “I was afraid our intrepid lawyer was goin’ to go back to Rivendell and listen to all that jazzy stuff.”

“ _Well_ ,” began Bilbo sheepishly. “It is a tempting idea. Though I have no idea how I could get there on foot.”

 “Aye, I couldn’t blame you. Thorin can be a right prick when he sets his mind to it.” Bilbo snorted, looking around hastily to see if anyone was still awake or paying attention to their conversation.

“He’s rather…single-mindedly determined, yes.”

“Same thing,” said Bofur, waving a hand. They both laughed quietly, trying to muffle to sound.

“No, I, I don’t think I’d up and leave,” Bilbo said a few minutes later, finishing his bowl. “I did sign a contract, and even if Thorin thinks I’m useless I am still obligated to try. Besides, I want to see the band regain its old glory, and all of that. Maybe grab a signed CD for a souvenir.”

“We’ll make sure to load you up with bags and bags o’ merchandise so you can cover your whole house in it.”

“My relatives would be just thrilled.”

“What’s that?” asked Bofur suddenly, a slight edge to his voice. Bilbo’s ears twitched as he caught the faint sound of something…mechanic. A small red light flickered on and off on the cave wall.

“Bofur…” began Bilbo nervously, “I don’t think—”

“Everyone wake up!” Thorin’s voice rang out, startling the company into confused movement, “Goblins!”

A loud _beep_ cut through the commotion, and suddenly the ground opened right up. Bilbo’s stomached plummeted as he fell straight down what was solid ground just a moment ago. There were shouts and yells everywhere as they tumbled down and down, sliding against something hard and metallic. The pitch black was broken by red glowing lights streaking by, looking like glowing eyes in the dark.

The sound of a deep laugh rose over their descent, echoing eerily from all around them as they fell, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, along with a deep base, beating along sinisterly.

Landing in a heap, the company of Thorin Oakenshield arrived at their destination, piled atop one another. Bilbo felt the breath whose out of him as he fell atop of Bombur, thankful at least that he had been near the end and had not had anyone fall in him. Muttering an apology to the drummer, he stumbled to his feet, the dwarves around him doing the same.

“Everyone stay close!” yelled Thorin, gripping his guitar and standing defensively before his company, “Be ready for attack!”

Eerie, echoing laughter continued to echo around them, the beat was coming closer and closer and the sound of footsteps filled the room. Gnarled, ugly creatures rushed into the cavern, swarming the company and charging them.

“Goblins!” someone yelled, the creatures shrieking in response. The dwarves rallied, but were hindered by the oppressive beat pounding around them, drowning out all other noises and the sheer number of goblins all but pouring out of the jagged walls of the cave, lit by flashing red lights.

Within moments they were overrun, instruments taken and grabbed by goblins. A whole ten goblins were need to pin Dwalin down, but eventually everyone was caught, hands bound behind their backs with what felt like to Bilbo to be handcuffs. The hobbit shuddered as two goblins loomed over him threateningly, but some small part of him bristled that they deemed him a small enough threat to only need two guards when everyone else had at least four.

They were tugged out of the room they had fallen into and rushed out into a passage way, sharply turning and curving. It opened into a massive cavern, the ceiling some unfathomable distance above them, disappearing into darkness. But what made the hobbit’s eyes widen was what could be seen.

Rickety metal catwalks connected platforms and islands of rock to each other, sides cutting away suddenly into the gaping darkness below. Built right up against the sides of the cavern and the pillars of rock were buildings, hard rusty metal supports holding them up. There were goblins everywhere, hanging out of what looked like bars, jeering and shrieking at them while the deep beat resounded throughout the cavern. It was goblin dubstep.

His stomach twisted as he caught sight of some of the creatures crawling up the sides of the walls, along long, rusty, pipes that climbed along the rocky wall, diapering out of sight far above and below them, some leaking steam or thick smoke, sending foul smelling toxins into the air. It was a sprawling mass of sharp, flashing fluorescent lights, signs and colour everywhere assaulting his senses almost as much as their goblin captors were themselves.

A sharp jab in his shoulder had him stumbling to keep up with the line as they were brought deeper and deeper into the goblin’s territory, thoroughly surrounded by goblins and lights and the oppressive beat on all sides. This was nothing at all like the Shire.

They were brought before a great throne, raised on a platform that towered over everything.

“Well, well, well...”

Bilbo felt his eyes nearly pop out of his head. Sitting upon the large, misshapen throne was a…man. Long blond hair framed his face, seemingly floating around him. He wore knee-high black leather boots, a vest and tight fitting leather pants. The eyes that watched their party were painted with winged eyeliner, white highlighting the area below his artfully plucked eyebrows. Bilbo didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“What do we have here?” Thorin was glaring daggers at the man (human?), bound hands clenching into fists behind his back. “Dwarves? Ugh, what an ugly bunch, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked his goblins, that immediately jeered and hissed at them.

“Welcome to Goblintown. It’s a real _Labyrinth_ down here!” The Goblin King said, laughing. He stood, casting aside his high collard cloak and spreading his arms dramatically. “We all know what happens to those who come into my lair without being invited, don’t we, friends?” All the goblins jittered and laughed gleefully alongside their king.

“You shall face the wrath of the _Magic Dance!_ ”

And with that he began to sing. And dance. Much to the dismay of the dwarves and hobbit.

 

_I saw my baby_

_Crying hard as babe could cry_

_What could I do_

 

It was painfully out of place from the dark goblin dubstep that was blasted at them. Almost pop-ish. But pop or no, Bilbo felt his ears ringing and dots dancing across his vision from the force of the sound. he tugged at his bound hands bu they would not budge. What an embarrassing way to go, felled by the ‘magic dance’.

_Dance magic dance_

_Dance magic dance_

_Put that baby spell on me_

_Slap that baby_

_make it free_

 

_Jump magic_

_jump Jump_

_magic jump_

_Put that magic spell on me_

 

Thorin lasted all of a minute, before he erupted in a mighty roar, splitting his bindings and freeing his hands in one move from the force of his voice alone. The others yelled along freeing themselves, and then they were grabbing up their instruments and belongings up and getting into formation.

Bilbo felt his own bindings snap at the rise of dwarven voices, and he quickly snatched up his little guitar, cursing his clumsy fingers as the blood flowed back into his hands.

The company switched to the offensive, roaring along with their instruments.

 

_Some folk we never forgive_

_Some folk we never forget_

_Haven’t seen the end of it yet_

_We will fight as long as we live_

 

The throne gave a mighty wobble, the ground shuddering at the force of the drums and dwarven boots, the guitars and strings helping it along until with a final chord the whole thing collapsed, the platform breaking apart and toppling, taking the Goblin King with it.

“To me!” roared Thorin, kicking a goblin over the edge of the platform. Everyone was running, the dwarves, the goblins, everything erupted into sheer chaos. Bilbo did his best to stay near the middle of the group, but an offensive dwarven metal band is a fierce and unpredictable thing.

 _The Company_ was perfectly coordinated. Thorin would sing and scream out the end of a verse, and then in swept Dwalin for a devastating axe solo. Bombur was pounding away with his drum strapped over his shoulder as he ran, nearly constantly keeping the goblins reeling with the tremors it brought through the ground and bouncing off the metal support poles. Fili and Kili were furiously sawing away with their bows, voices rising to join with the rest as well as they jumped and ran along the unstable path. Even the non-musical dwarves stomped along to the beat with their heavy boots, making the drumming that more efficient, or simply shoved or punched goblins out of the way, the occasional head bang thrown in. Bilbo clutched his guitar tightly and ran as fast as his short hobbit legs could take him, using his instrument as a blunt weapon when a goblin got too close.

They ran over a rickety old cat walk that swayed alarmingly when it was crossed and spilled out onto the stone after it, taking a sharp turn to the right along the path in the cliff face. Suddenly goblins were everywhere, having swarmed down the jagged rock wall and jumped onto the groups of dwarves.

It was chaos, fighting in close quarters, surrounded by dizzying heights, goblins crawling all over the walls like spiders and dwarves yelling and screaming, shaking the ground with the force of their sound. Killing the Goblin King had not endured their little party overmuch to the locals, it seemed.

Panting, Bilbo ducked around a sudden goblin arm thrust out at him, clutching his ears in pain as a wave of dubstep hit him. It was different that what the Goblin King had sung, more like that awful, painful sound the orcs had blasted.

Something collided with him and before he knew what was happening he felt his world tipping dangerously. With a panicked cry, Bilbo toppled over the edge of the platform, falling down, down, down, into the darkened abyss below.

 

X|]|[|X

Waking up in the pitch black, dizzy and disoriented and scared for your life was not how Bilbo Baggins liked to wake up. No, hobbits in general aren’t much for mortal peril or damp, dank caves inhabited by goblin creatures with violent compulsions and questionable music tastes, and Bilbo was certainly no exception. He much preferred waking up in his own little bed at home, snug and warm with his friendly floral curtains and birds chirping from outside in the garden.

“Oh, my head,” groaned Bilbo, raising a shakily hand up to his head. He moved it in front of his face to see if there was any blood, but not being able to even see his hand did nothing to help his assessment. He could just barely make out the faintest sounds echoing down through whatever dark crevasse he had fallen.

It did not seem as if he was in a particularly inhabited area of Goblin Town. Unless perhaps it was a slum of some sorts? Gone were the harsh florescent lights and signs flashing from every corner, not a building or goblin in sight. There wasn’t even the stench of horrible goblin cooking in the air, coming out in thick tendrils of steam and smoke from the numerous seedy bars everywhere.

Rising to his knees, Bilbo felt around blindly, trying to understand exactly where he was. The cold shock of metal was unexpected, and his fingers automatically curled around whatever the thing was. It felt like a ring. Without thinking he slipped it into his pocket and rose to his feet.

“Hello?” he tried tentatively, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself but desperate now that his full situation had caught up to him to know if any of the dwarves were nearby.

“Bofur? Balin? Thorin, anyone?”

Fighting back the rising panic, he stumbled through the dark, tripping over something and cursing. A sudden burst of blue light had him stumbling backwards, and it took him a long moment to realize it was his guitar lying on the ground. Picking it up, the strings glowed a faint blue, thankfully providing a source of light in the pitch black.

Emboldened by the light of his little magic guitar, the hobbit took a deep breath, nodded decisively, and made his way down the tunnel, taking the instrument in hand. “Bilbo Baggins,” he chided himself, “There is no time for sulking. Your dwarves are probably far away by now and Gandalf is who knows where. You have to get yourself out of this, but more importantly, you have to stay calm and think rationally.”

Hearing his voice aloud made him feel a bit better. It was still a poor replacement for a companion, but it was a friendlier sound than the ominous dripping of water and the odd rumbles of pipes than ran through and down the side of the rock walls.

Making his way with the faint blue glow of his guitar held before him like a flashlight, Bilbo became aware of an increase in the sounds of dripping water, and a cool breeze drifted through the tunnel. It cut off, a passage leading left and another leading right. After a moment’s indecision, he decided to follow the cool breeze and took the passage left.

It opened into a wide cave. Lifting his guitar, the blue light lit up a large dark lake, water dripping into it from the ceiling far above. Shivering slightly, he started to hum. It was an old hobbit song, one he had adored as a faunt, and he found himself singing it now in the oppressive darkness of the goblin cave, far beneath the sun and grass as he made his way tentatively into the cavern.

 

_Hey and away we go_

_Through the grass_

_Across the snow_

_Big brown beasty_

_Big brown face_

_I’d rather be here_

_Than any old place_

 

_Hey and away we go_

_Through the grass_

_Across the snow_

_Big brown beasty_

_Big brown face_

 

_“I’d rather be here_

_Than any old place._ ”

 

Sang another voice, just off to his left. Shrieking and stumbling back, Bilbo looked up and found himself looking at wide glowing eyes peering over the top of a rock.

“Ohh, that was a good song, precioussss. We haven’t heard songs like that in aaaaages,” It hissed happily. The thing leapt down from the rock and Bilbo jerked back, trying desperately to keep some distance between himself and the horribly emancipated and spindly creature before him.

“What _isssss_ it, precious?” it asked, appraising the hobbit with sharp eyes. “What is it that sings songs?”

“Ah-I am a hobbit,” Bilbo stuttered, gripping his guitar. He took a deep breath. “I am Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.”

“Hobbitsesss?” The creature grinned, showing it’s very few jagged teeth in its otherwise toothless mouth. “We’ve never eaten hobbitses before.” Heart skipping a beat, Bilbo’s hands tightened around his guitar and he brought it up in a threatening manner.

“And you won’t. Not today.” The thing hissed at him, glaring at his glowing instrument. “Now, what is your name, if I may ask?” said Bilbo, trying desperately to distract the thing from thoughts of eating.

“ _Gollum, Gollum,_ ” It half-sang, half-gurgled at him.

“Ah. Well then, Mister-ah, Gollum. You wouldn’t happen to know the way out of this place, would you?” asked Bilbo, shivering as Gollum’s eyes followed his every move hungrily. They suddenly snapped back to his own, wide and innocent.

“We knows, we knows way out!” Gollum chattered excitedly.

“Could you show me?” asked Bilbo.

“Yes, yes—NO!” Eyes narrowing again, it bared its teeth and circled the lawyer threateningly, causing him to have to turn to keep it in his view. “We wants to _eat_ the hobbitses. Nice and juicy—NO! No, don’t eat hobbitses, it sings us nice song.” Bilbo watched in terror as Gollum argued with himself, each side a completely different personality. Not wanting to see which would win the argument, Bilbo decided to try something impulsive.

“I can sing you more songs.”

“It can?” squawked Gollum, trotting up to him excitedly like a puppy.

“Yes, yes I can sing you more songs. And ah—then maybe you’d show me the way out?”

“No! We’ll play a game,” hissed the creature. “Ooo, I love games!” it cried, clapping its hands. “Shut up!”

“Ah—“ started Bilbo.

“Not you!” Gollum hissed at the hobbit. “We plays a gameses. Hobbitses sings us some of a song and we sing the rest of it. We sings some of a song and hobbitses must finish it. If we does not know song, then we show hobbitses the way out. If hobbitses doesn’t know the song, well then we eats it of course,” It finished cackling up at him.

Bilbo stared at the creature in horror for a moment, before silently weighing his options. “Fair enough,” he agreed reluctantly. It was very likely Gollum knew some songs he did not, just as Bilbo was almost positive that he knew songs this strange creature did not.

“Only that kind of songses,” Gollum said. “What kind of songses—ah, songs?” Bilbo asked, carefully sitting down on a rock, fully aware of Gollum’s rapt attention to his every move. “Like the one it was singingsess. Not dwarfses or elvessss or goblinsss, the.” Not being exactly sure what that truly meant, Bilbo could only guess that perhaps Gollum was trying to refer to genre? Perhaps only hobbit music.

“Do you mean maybe folk or country?” he asked. Gollum gurgled happily at him in response. “Alright,” agreed Bilbo nervously.

“Bagginses first!” Gollum chirped happily, folding his hands and resting his chin on them, the image of attentiveness.

 

“Yes yes, half a moment.” Bilbo sang the first song that came to mind.

 

_Gotta get home_

_There’s a garden to tend_

_There’s fruit on the ground_

_And the Birds have all_

_moved back Into my attic_

_Whistle and static_

_When the young learn to fly I_

_will patch all the holes up again_

_And I can’t believe that_

_My lime tree is dead_

_I thought it was sleeping I_

_guess it was fed up With not being fed_

_And I would be too I keep food in my belly_

_And hope that my time isn’t soon_

 

_And so I try to Understand_

_What I can’t hold In my hand…_

 

He trailed off, unsure of how much of the song he was expected to sing. Gollum for his part had his eyes closed and brow furrowed, making small little aggressive noises. After giving him a minute or two, Bilbo politely coughed and asked if he had an answer. Suddenly he shot up.

“We knows, we knows!”

“ _And wherever we are Home is there too._ ”

Ending on a drawn out, unnecessarily high note, Gollum collapsed in a pile of giggles, rolling around on the rocky ground in joy. Bilbo sighed. How on earth had the creature known that song? It was a big hit in the Shire a few years ago, he didn’t think the goblins listened to that kind of music. Unless if Gollum had some kind of a radio stashed away down here.

Eventually Gollum composed himself and shot Bilbo a predatory glare. “ _Our_ turn.” Bilbo gulped and sat up straighter.

_We lay my love and I_

_Beneath a weeping willow_

_But now alone I lie_

_And weep beside the tree_

_Singing ‘o willow waly’_

_By the tree that weeps with me_

_Singing ‘o willow waly’_

_Till my lover returns to me_

 

_We lay my love and I_

_Beneath a weeping willow…._

 

_“But now alone I lie_

_Oh willow I die Oh willow I die”_

Finished Bilbo. He knew that song. It was an old song, hardly ever sung in the daily lives of most hobbits. For obvious reasons. It had always given Bilbo the chills when he had heard it, and hearing it again here did nothing to improve his opinion of it.

“Curses the Bagginses,” the creature hissed, baring its teeth. Bilbo held up a hand.

“It’s my turn,” he said quickly, “Those were the rules.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and quickly started singing before the creature went off again.

 

_When morning is breaking_

_O’er mountains and dale_

_And sunlight illuminates_

_Our home in the vale_

_Fresh, soft balmy breezes_

_The lark’s thrilling lay…_

 

Gollum smiled and easily finished the verse. _“_

_Are heralds foretelling the gladness of day.”_

“Oh bother,” said Bilbo glumly as Gollum clapped and applauded himself. Gollum went next, a strange light coming into his eyes as if in old remembrance.

 

_Once upon a time_

_There was a pretty fly_

_He had a pretty wife_

_This pretty fly_

_But one day_

_She flew away_

_Flew away_

 

_She had…_

 

Bilbo panicked. That was an old song. That was a very old hobbit song. He could remember hearing it as a faunt, though he rarely asked for it, as it always made him sad somehow.

Unfortunately the lyrics would not come to Bilbo.

“What does it say?” asked Gollum, slinking closer. “Give me more time,” he responded quickly, jumping to his feet as Gollum pawed closer to him.

“Hmmm,” the creature hummed, “What will the Bagginses taste like? Nice and juuuuuuciy, maybes? Is it sweeeeetsss?”

“Will you stop that!” cried Bilbo, desperately swinging his guitar at Gollum until he backed off. He went over the lyrics, muttering aloud. “Pretty fly…wife flew away…a fly…she had a…she had…?”

“Times up,” growled Gollum, eyes gleaming dangerously. Bilbo’s head snapped up.

“I know what it is!” he cried.

_“She had two pretty children_

_But one night_

_these two pretty children_

_Flew away_

_Flew away Into the sky_

_Into the moon”_

 

Gollum gave a great wail, hissing and spitting at the hobbit.

“My turn,” Bilbo said, trying to calm his heart. Unfortunately Gollum was getting increasingly hostile, and Bilbo began to doubt that even if he won the creature wouldn’t try to eat him anyway. But it was worth a try, as Bilbo had no idea where he was.

Clearing his throat, Bilbo paced, trying to think of something that would stump Gollum. “Alright,” he said, and began to sing.

 

_In the town_

_Where I was born_

_Lived a man_

_Who sailed to sea_

_And he told_

_Us of his life_

_In the land_

_Of submarines_

_So we sailed_

_Up to the sun_

_Til we found_

_A sea of green_

_And we lived…_

 

Bilbo trailed off, and peeking a glance at Gollum he could tell he was stumped. Of course he was. Bilbo was cheating, just a bit. Gollum had not been specific in what was an acceptable song or not. It was folk! But as it was Bilbo’s mother who made the song up (and about his uncle who had gone off to sea), not too many people would have ever heard it. Still, the hobbit did not want to be eaten down here, so he would do what he could do, and like any good lawyer, use whatever loopholes he could when necessary. Especially if it was to save a life.

“Do you give up?” asked Bilbo after a while.

“We does not know this song!” it wailed at him, thrashing around on the floor. “Gollum looooosessss,” suddenly he stopped, body going still and tense.

“Ah…so,” began Bilbo nervously, “H-how about you show me the way out of here, and we can just pretend none of this ever happened and go on our ways?”

“We shows you something…something pretty.”

“Something pretty?” Gollum turned and groped at a pouch at his side. His movements turned frantic, and suddenly Gollum was thrashing around, eyes rating over the ground.

“Where is it? Where is it? The precious is lost!” He wailed, eyes wide.

“What’s lost?” asked Bilbo, taking a few steps back from the distraught creature.

“The preccicoussss! Gone! Its’ gone! Nasty goblins must have—“ Gollum stopped. He slowly turned his glowing eyes on the hobbit, gaze sharp. “ _You,_ ” he hissed. “The Bagginses has it.”

“Me-has-what?!” cried Bilbo, backing up as Gollum’s glare turned dark.

“Our preciousss...”

“What is your precious?”

“A ring. Our golden ring.” Bilbo’s eyes must have widened as he remembered the ring he had picked up earlier, for suddenly Gollum launched at him snarling, teeth bared. He just barely managed to duck in time and made a mad scramble for the way back up the passage.

Gollum was right behind him, screaming at the panicking hobbit as he tried to run as fast as he could over the jagged rocks in the tunnel. Bilbo tripped, falling heavily on his side and rolling immediately onto his back. The golden ring flew out of his pocket and fell in an arch, heading back down towards the prone hobbit. Bilbo reached out his hands to grab it and it slid perfectly onto his finger.

With a cry, Gollum appeared, and even as Bilbo braced himself for attack the creature sped right by him, cursing as he went.

What?

Rising shakily to his feet, Bilbo crept along the tunnel, confusion and fear warring within him.

“Where is the Bagginsesss?” shrieked Gollum, turning and looking straight at the hobbit. Bilbo ducked, but it was as if Gollum hadn’t seen him at all.

“Tricksy hobbitsessss. Says it doesn’t know the way out, but it knew the ways inn,” Gollum hissed, eyes glinting. “The back door!” And he was off, speeding down a passageway and muttering darkly to himself.

It took Bilbo a few moments of standing there in utter shock before he took off after Gollum, creeping as silently and as swiftly as he could.

 


	6. Wilderland

The dwarves charged through Goblin Town, knocking over anything and everything that tried to stop them. Dwarves may not be the swiftest or lightest of races, but once a dwarf picked up enough momentum they were as impossible to stop as a landslide. Thirteen dwarves charging down the rickety, rusted catwalks and over and each club and seedy bar managed to take down almost everything in their path.

Running down a fire escape and across an adjoining metal catwalk, there was a loud BOOM, and a blast of light. They all staggered to a halt as the Goblin King was suddenly there, standing in front of them in his knee-highs and tight leather pants.

“Did you really think you could defeat me so easily?” asked the Goblin King, smirking down at the dwarves. “None can escape the wrath of the _Magic—_ “

With a roar, Thorin and Dwalin lunged at the king, sending him backwards with a riff of their guitars and before anyone could do anything they both kicked the Goblin King right over the edge of the bridge with their boots, sending him sailing down into the depths (hopefully for good this time).

“Mahal, that was annoying,” huffed Dwalin, hefting grasper.

Suddenly the bridge gave a lurch, the rusty metal supports beginning to give away and creak alarmingly. “Quick, move!” yelled Thorin, ushering his dwarves ahead of him to get off the bridge.

But they were too slow.

With an awful, cracking moaning sound the supports snapped, sending them and the bridge toppling over towards the wall of the cavern. 

“Hang on!”

They hit the wall with a clang, metal striking the large pipes running up and down the walls, sending sparks up into the air. One of the pipes burst, a hard wave of steam spewing out where they were only moments ago. The broken platform they were on was falling down and down, slowed by the wall on either side and the slow crunching of the metal supports under them.

X|]|[|X

Creeping fearfully down the passageway, Bilbo was infinitely thankful for his being a hobbit. All hobbits were considered to be unnaturally quiet by other folks, though of course they had it backwards and it was the big folks who were just inexcusably loud. Elves could be very silent though perhaps not as unnoticeable as hobbits, being so very tall and fair and all.

Chasing after Gollum in the horrible metallic and echoing bowls of Goblin Town, Bilbo would have kissed his silent feet if he had the time, and if they weren’t covered in Goblin Town sludge. Coming to the conclusion that his ring made him invisible did little to alleviate his worries of being caught by the strange, fearsome creature. He could still be heard. And unfortunately, Bilbo was forced to stay very close indeed to Gollum if he wished not to loose sight of him.

For what looked to be a simple passageway had very quickly become a large mess of huge, twisting pipes and enormously large machines that sent everything around them rumbling as they worked. Perhaps they were furnaces, or power generators for the mess of florescent lights and flashy signs up in Goblin Town proper.

All that Bilbo knew was that it was utterly terrifying, breath caught in his throat whenever a large machine he passed would give a mighty tremble, or one of the pipes he was forced to crawl over or around would hiss at him. He had the very uncomfortable thought of being inside of some great beast, the pulsing of its heart all around him as he climbed through its veins.

Or stomach more like. 

There was a splash, and Bilbo realized that there was a large puddle down a small rusty ladder. Gollum went through it easily enough, so down Bilbo went, shuddering as his legs were submerged just below the knee in the slimy, gucky liquid. 

His poor, poor foot hair. Not to mention his nice suit that was surely splattered and covered in grease and grime and who knows what was in this water.

Making as little noise as possible, Bilbo wadded his way through, spotting Gollum darting up another ladder ahead of him. The hobbit followed as best he could, then stopped at the sight of two very large and rusty pipes with just a small space between them. Oh bother. 

Now, he had lost some weight since leaving Hobbiton. His usual nice, hobbity tummy was not its usual round self, courtesy of stress and car sickness and no where near seven meals a day. But Bilbo was certainly no Gollum, his slightly less round stomach no match for that emancipated creature. Oh, this was going to be difficult.

With nothing else for it, Bilbo shouldered his way through the gap, grimacing at the wet, rusty metal and the feeling of something moving within the pipes from where he was pressed against them. He then proceeded to push the rest of his body through. At least, that was the plan. What happened was sadly quite a bit different.

Bilbo got stuck. His nice acorn buttons on his favourite suit were caught in the edge of the pipe, keeping him from pushing through. He panicked, the fear of being trapped down here in the dark alone rising in him, and the image of Gollum’s few sharp teeth surged into his mind. Struggling with his arms he pushed and pulled, blinded to anything but the fear and the need to get _out_ , get free.

With a loud pop his buttons gave way, flying everywhere and letting Bilbo slide through the gap, collapsing in a heap on the damp metal floor with a bang. Panting heavily, he froze at the sound of soft footsteps coming towards him.

“Bagginsesss…nasty little hobbitsesss…” hissed Gollum, eyes glowing and teeth bared threateningly as he crept back towards the petrified hobbit. Bilbo barely dared to breath, waiting until Gollum turned to even attempt to move. He slowly rose to his feet, noticing that the tunnel beyond Gollum was lighter, and he could even hear distant voices. He was almost out!

But Gollum was still there, and dangerous, blocking his escape. 

He was desperate. He had to get past Gollum, and the thing fully intended to kill him if it got the chance. It would be in self defense, any harm done towards the creature on Gollum’s part was excused in the circumstances. Just something quick, painless—

Perhaps if Bilbo were an accomplished musician like Dwalin or Thorin he could manage it with his guitar, but clumsy and inept as he was quick and painless would be out of the question. Just swing the guitar at it, like a blunt weapon—but what if he missed? What if it wasn’t enough, he could—

He could deafen the creature, he was sure, this close to it. Whatever chords or a riff he could manage should work. It was an elven instrument, and even Bilbo’s inept skill could manage that at this distance. Then it would be too distracted and in pain to—

Gollum’s eyes had lit right up when Bilbo had sung. Not the uncomfortable, dangerous glint he’d shown later. No, this was the glint of a delighted fauntling listening to their mother tell stories of her adventures, or watching a freshly baked pie come out of the oven. Gollum _loved_ music. That much even Bilbo could tell from only being around him for such a short time. To take away his hearing…

His guitar dipped, and then fell to his side.

Bilbo took a deep breath, and then jumped foreword, brushing past Gollum and darting into the passage before him, running as fast as his hobbit feet could take him.

 

He could hear Gollum screaming at him from down the tunnel, his piercing shrieks echoing up and following him even when the creature itself did not. Bilbo ran, heart in his throat down the tunnel, making for where it was noticeably lighter.

Finally he couldn’t hear poor Gollum’s wailing any longer and he slowed down. There were voices. Goblin voices.

Creeping silently along, he turned a corner. And nearly walked face first into a goblin guard.

They were everywhere. From the looks of it, it was some kind of guard room, or perhaps—

There was a door! Light was coming from around the edges, actual sunlight, not the florescent glare of Goblin Town. He was so close to being out of this awful mountain. But there were about twenty goblins in between him and that door.

Oh, but this was an awful idea, and he was sure he’d regret very soon and in a very painful way. Creeping as silently as a hobbit could creep, he made his way around the goblins, inching closer to the door. He was forced to leap over a few as silently as he could, stepping over their legs or boots, trying desperately to keep his balance.

Finally he was at the door, the bright red EXIT sign casting a glow around everything. There was no way he could quietly slip out. He’d just have to push the door open and run for it, hoping that the old myths about goblins refusing to go into the sunlight were real and that he would not be pursued.

Pressing his hands against the door he took a deep breath, and then pushed with all he had. The door was heavy and creaked awfully, yet there was a gap and he could see the sky and grass and trees—

“Oi, the door’s opening!”

“There’s a shadow!”

The goblins sprang into action, grabbing for the open door and the space between it and the wall. But their claws closed on nothing, because Bilbo had already slipped out.

He could hear the goblins yelling and shrieking behind him, blasting their awful music into the valley. But they wouldn’t go out into the sunlight. Even as the ground shook with the force of the great base pounding after him, Bilbo only ran faster, bare hobbit feet flying over debris and roots.

A lightness bubbled up in his chest and he laughed, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. His suit was probably ruined and his poor acorn buttons had been left behind. 

But he had escaped and he was free.

X|]|[|X

Bilbo managed to run for a good long while, wanting to put as much space between himself and the goblins before nightfall. Finally loosing the odd high he had been riding after escaping the mountains, he stopped by a tree to catch his breath.

If he remembered his geography correctly, he was now approximately somewhere just east of the Misty Mountains. Which really did not tell him a whole lot, as anyone who looked at a map could tell you the Misty Mountains was _the_ single longest North-South mountain range in Middle Earth. Assuming they were roughly where they meant to pop up, the road should be nearby. 

First things first, Bilbo knew he had to try and find his dwarves. He was sure they had escaped the goblins and if anything they had left without him. He huffed, remembering Thorin’s harsh words. Well, that was just _too bad_ for the vocalist, because this hobbit wasn’t about to give up so easily. No indeed.

The niggling fear that his friends were still trapped in Goblin Town crept into his mind but he pushed it back. He had to find the road. But how could he—

“Of course!” he said aloud, marveling at his own stupidity. Alright, so to be fair, Bilbo’s phone had pretty lousy internet connection outside of the Shire. But supposedly, even as far east as Erebor it should be able to function and exchange texts.

Patting himself down, he was relived to find his phone still on his person, and even in one piece as he fished it out of his trouser pocket. Watching nervously as it turned on, he waited for any notifications of new messages. The company had his number. Fili and Kili had been a bit relentless with sending him all kinds of important things. He could only hope some of the company still had their phones on them.

His heart jumped as a box appeared.

 

_12 new messages_

 

Tapping it open eagerly, he quickly scanned it 

 

 **From:** Lobelia Sackville-Baggins

Bilbo Baggins! It’s been three weeks since you’ve run out on the Shire and I CANNOT BE MORE DISSAPOINTED in you! 

 

 **From:** Lobelia Sackville-Baggins

Bag End belongs to someone who will be there to care for it, not to someone who runs off with foreigners!

 

 **From:** Lobelia Sackville-Baggins

Don’t you ignore me, Bilbo! 

 

 **From:** Kili Durin

Biiiiiiilbo. Boooooooooggins. Bilbo Boggins. :p

 

 **From:** Kili Durin

:0 >:S :O >:((((( D’: Xp  
You with the trolls. Lolz. :D

 

 **From:** Hamfast Gamgee

Mr. Baggins, I know you’re busy with that case of yours, but you should know I’ve seen that Sackville woman snooping around Bag End.

 

Scowling, he angrily typed a reply.

 **From:** Bilbo Baggins

Lobelia, If you so much as touch my silver spoons so help me I will file a restraining order against you, just see if I don’t. And stay away from my tea set!

 

A sudden sound had his head whipping up and around, and he strained his ears to make it out again. Voices. Dwarven voices! And just a good bit to his right. Shoving his phone back in his pocket he hastened towards them, relief rolling off of him in waves.

 

“—too dangerous.”

“He’s part of the Company just as the rest of us.”

“We can’t just abandon him to the goblins! What if they sing that bloody song again?”

“It would be suicide to go back in there! The place is crawling with angry goblins.”

“Then what, we leave the hobbit to die?!”

“He may have escaped on his own and could be waiting for us even now.”

“Or maybe he’s scampered back home.”

“Or been eaten!”

“We won’t be seeing the hobbit again,” said Thorin, and Bilbo slowed to a halt just outside of their cluster. “He’s either already dead, or gone off on his own now, no doubt gone back to his hole.”

“You know,” began Bilbo, taking off his ring and walking into the middle of their group. “I’m standing _right here_. It’s incredibly rude to talk about someone like that.”

“Bilbo!”

“Mr. Boggins!”

“Baggins!”

“Why did you come back?” Thorin said, cutting across the others easily. “Why didn’t you go back to Rivendell?”

“Because—well, for one it’s an awful long way to walk,” began Bilbo, smiling as some of his friends laughed. “And I did sign a contract, after all, I can’t exactly run off. But more importantly, I gave my word to help you, and a Baggins does not break their word! Even if I did go home you all would still be out here, and that doesn’t sit right with me to up and leave. Look, I may just be a hobbit lawyer, and I know you doubt me—perhaps I’ve never dealt with dragons or goblins and whatnot—but I _am_ still a lawyer, and whatever I can do, I _will_ , if it can help you.”

 

“And because,” he stammered, blushing at all the fond looks he was receiving and giving a small chuckle. “Maybe I really want to see you all rock it out against an evil shape shifting dragon vocalist and _win_ , I mean, how hardcore is that?!” A few dwarves gave a cheer. 

Thorin’s frown had melted into something much warmer and he opened his mouth to say something, but roar of distant engines cut him off. “Run! Everyone move!” Shouted Thorin, spurring everyone into action.

The sun. All that was left of it was a red blotch staining the sky. With the darkness came the goblins, riding their wargs in furious pursuit of the killer of their king.

“We’ll never outrun them!”

“Oh, where’s Gandalf when you need him!” cried Ori.

It was no good. The wargs were gaining on them, the oppressive sound of the fast approaching beat getting closer and closer. Bilbo could feet it right through the earth. They were goblins and they were angry.

“Quick, up the trees!”

The dwarves all launched themselves up and into the great firs, easily managing the distance or giving each other a lift. Bilbo’s shorter legs had him near the back of the group, and he silently despaired at the jump to even the lowest of branches. 

A firm grip circled his waist, and before he could say ‘riff’ he was launched into the air, scrambling for a branch. “Up you go, Baggins,” he heard Dwalin growl from behind him, and then the dwarf and his brother were pulling themselves up besides him.

 

The goblins were hurling grenade like things that burst into flames on contact. It was horrifying, stuck up in a tree, trying to hold on and _not look down_ , while a pack of goblins tried to hurl deadly flammable projectiles up at you, blasting their dark dub step through their boom boxes and circling the trees with their wargs. Luckily the goblins had awful aim and had missed the branched every time. Unfortunately, the flames had taken the straggly grass and were happily licking up the trunks of their trees.

 

“Azog.” Growled Thorin. Bilbo blinked in confusion, before he followed Thorin’s gaze to a figure that was standing right in the middle of the pack of goblins. 

It was a massive, pure white orc, scared and terrifying, sitting atop an equally scared and terrifying white warg. It looked as if an orc force had joined with the goblins, similar to the ones that had chased them on the highway. The orc grinned at them, licking his thin lips and bearing his razor sharp teeth, growling out something in his language.

“Thorin, no!” Twisting, Bilbo could make out Dwalin holding Thorin back, the dwarf snarling down at the orc, clearly enraged.

With a groan that reverberated through every branch and twig, the tree began to topple, sending itself and its passengers hurling towards the next fur tree. Everyone jumped, grabbing hold of a branch of the new tree as the old one collapsed and succumbed fully to the flames on the forest floor. The new tree began to snap and sway, and they were jumping again into the last remaining tree, twigs and leaves scratching at them.

The booming beat from the goblins boom boxes shook the ground, penetrating right down to the very roots of the trees, uprooting and loosening them with the force of the sound.

“Hold on!!”

The tree gave a groan and lurched, slowly tipping them over the edge of the cliff until the tree has lying horizontal, barely holding on amidst the flames and the deep base. Everyone was yelling and shouting, trying desperately to hold onto the tree even as Azog watched on, chuckling darkly.

Bilbo had both arms wrapped desperately around a branch, struggling to right himself and think of _anything_ but the awful drop directly beneath him miles below amidst the rocks, or their certain death at the hands of the goblins and orcs. 

A great iron tipped boot stepped on the trunk in front of him, and following it up the hobbit saw Thorin, Orcrist in hand, striding resolutely towards the pale orc. 

Azog snarled something, eyes glinting dangerously as he revved up his warg, baring an arm that had been chopped of near the elbow and had a wicked prong attached in its place. Bilbo watched in confused awe as Thorin charged, giving a mighty roar, fingers flying over his base guitar.

It was madness, absolute madness to challenge Azog alone when he was surrounded by back up, and yet Thorin Oakenshield did just that, charging like some great King out of legend, like the ones sung of in the songs Bilbo had so adored, sparks flying around him in a brilliant blaze of glory.

Azog brought his pronged forearm up against a large metal shield and scraped it across, the sudden piercing, scream of jagged metal on metal slicing through the air like a blow, causing the hobbit to cry out as the sound assaulted his ears and Thorin to be thrown backwards from the force of it, crumbling to the ground, the pounding of the boom boxes like a steady blow.

Thorin wasn’t stirring.

Giving a smile that showed all of his pointed and jagged teeth, Azog licked his lips and approached the prone form, ordering one of his orc backups to kill the dwarf.

To the end of his days, Bilbo could never explain exactly how he gotten his feet under him in that moment, or what on earth he had been thinking when he found himself brandishing his own little acoustic guitar and charging at the orc, feet pounding over the flaming earth.

But perhaps that was the problem. Bilbo _hadn’t_ been thinking. He had just acted. And before he knew it, he was tackling the orc, screaming at the thing as he brought it down, hitting it with his guitar.

Struggling to his feet, he staggered in front of Thorin, hefting his little guitar defensively when Azog grinned down at him. Cold fear spread through his veins like ice, as his fingers fumbled with a riff, wishing that he had at least tried to keep up what pitiful amounts of guitar he had learned as a tween.

It was barely enough. His poor playing acted as an equally poor barrier against the orcs, let alone serving as an attack. Azog chuckled darkly and began to approach, and Bilbo gulped and tried to steady his shaking hands. Why couldn’t he have just taken the Chub-Boffins case of the misplaced cow and avoided an untimely and violent death at the hands of a crazed orc?!

As the dub step rose up to a nearly deafening crescendo of sound, there suddenly rose a chorus of wailing voices behind it, overpowering the heavy beat. Azog’s gaze slid past the hobbit to just above his left shoulder, and unable to help himself Bilbo turned.

Out of the sky great, winged shapes flew into the clearing, Gandalf perched atop the lead with his staff raised high. They were eagles. Giant great eagles descending from the sky, beating the flames about with their wings and screeching into the night, sending goblins reeling in pain with the sound.

There was a roar and then the blast of electric guitars joined in with Gandlaf’s magical screaming voices, Dwalin and Bombur and Fili charging in to stand against the orcs. Gandalf raised his staff again and sent down a mighty blast of light and sound, filling the air with riffs and wailing, even as the eagles screeched along. The boom boxes shattered, pieces flying everywhere and destroying the dub step.

A deep growl had Bilbo whirling around, nearly forgetting that Azog was still there and advancing furiously, arm raised to send out another piercing screech with his prong. The hobbit scrambled backwards clutching at his guitar, when suddenly the eagles swooped lower, one sending the pale orc tumbling backwards with the force of it. Bilbo blinked in shock as another flew down, carefully lifting the still unconscious Thorin and taking off again with the dwarf clutched in it’s grip. Another eagle began to swoop towards the hobbit, and he took a step backwards, eyes widening.

“Oh no, nononono!” But it was no use. Bilbo was snatched up by large talons and dropped onto the back of another, his stomach following a few seconds behind. All around him he eagles were doing the same to the rest of _The Company_. Clutching at the feathers desperately, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to be sick as the great birds flew them off to who knows where.

X|]|[|X

When the eagles finally set them down on a large rock towering over the valley, the moon had risen high in the sky and the sun had well and truly set without a trace. Bilbo’s legs wobbled when his feet touched the ground, though his uneasiness did little to dissipate, being up on a giant rock far from the ground.

All thoughts of falling were forgotten as the eagles placed Thorin down, still worryingly unconscious. The group crowded around, anxious for their felled vocalist.

“Is he dead?”

“Uncle Thorin!”

“What’s wrong with him?!”

“Stand back,” commanded Gandalf, and then the wizard was crouching down beside the dwarf, eyes shut and chanting something in elvish under his breath, hand hovering above Thorin’s head. A faint began to glow, and it seemed as if many more voices joined the wizard’s in their song. The light faded and Gandalf sighed and stood, brushing off his robes.

“Is he—?”

Thorin groaned and opened his eyes, blearily staring up at the rest of The Company all crowded around him eagerly. 

“Thorin!”

“Don’t bloody do that, laddie!”

“We thought you had died!”

“The Halfling?” said the vocalist, cutting through their exclamations, an odd urgency in his voice. Gandalf smiled, eyes twinkling as the vocalist lurched to his feet.

“Bilbo is fine, he’s here, safe with everyone else.”

The hobbit gave a relieved smile to see Thorin on his feet again. Maybe he was a right pain most of the time, but he did want the best for his group and family, so really he wasn’t such a bad guy at all.

“You.”

Alright, never mind that. Stomach flipping as the suddenly livid dwarf was right in front of him and glaring him down, Bilbo gulped nervously, not at all looking foreword to yet another dressing down in front of the whole company.

“What were you doing? You could have gotten yourself killed! You don’t even know how to use that guitar!” Thorin all but shouted, and Bilbo couldn’t help but curl in on himself. “Did I not say you were nothing but a burden, and had no place in our band?”

Blinking furiously against the pricking in his eyes, Bilbo suddenly found himself pressed up against warm, sturdy dwarf, two thick arms circling around him.

What?

“I’ve never been so wrong in all my life.”

Startled, Bilbo tentatively raised his arms to hug Thorin back, relief coursing through him. Of course the dwarf would be all dramatic about an apology. Couldn’t just apologize, he had to go make a big scene about it. He couldn’t find it in himself to be properly angry though, it felt too nice to be hugged, and a smile was tugging at his lips. He could hear the rest of the company cheering around them as Thorin pulled back.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Thorin said gravely. “And for being unjustly cruel.”

“Oh no, that’s alright,” said Bilbo, waving him off. “I would have doubted me too. Though, I will take your apology for being cruel,” he added with a bit of a smile.

“It was undeserved,” said Thorin, shaking his head. “You have more than proven yourself, both as a lawyer and as a member of _The Company._ ”

The dwarf clapped Bilbo on the back, and his gaze wondered, suddenly filling with awe. Following Thorin’s gaze, Bilbo turned and saw in the far distance a lone skyscraper, towering above a mountain far, far away. “Is that…?”

“Erebor,” said Thorin, pride and longing all mixed in with the one word. “Our home.”

X|]|[|X

_The Company_ climbed down the large, foreboding rock they had been placed on, which was easier said than done. Thankfully there were steps cut into it, though they must have been made with someone truly massive in mind, a great bear of a person by the looks of it. Bilbo’s legs and thigh muscles did not thank him for the constant straining.

Gandalf had explained it was called the Carrock, and was made by a friend of his who he would be trying to contact as soon as they were back on the ground proper.

When asked, Gandalf informed them that the van sadly could not be saved, and so was abandoned out in the mountain pathway. “I was still trying to flip it back around when I felt you lot were in trouble, so I summoned the eagles.”

“You’re friends with the eagles of Manwe?” asked Ori, eyes lighting right up. Gandalf gave a small chuckle.

“Not exactly, though I suppose I’d be as close to what they would call one. I did a good turn for them some time ago, so I was granted a favour or so.”

“And the van is just…out there. Lost on the mountain side,” asked Gloin, dejectedly.

“The eagles were very clear on the matter, they would take me and the Company, but no vans. As it stands, we have now put a very large distance between ourselves and our immediate enemies, so we had best make the best of it—and no more questions until we get down from here!”

So, with much grumbling they had gotten down, and as soon as they had, the rock wizard was off, saying he’d be back after contacting his friend.

“What now?” asked Ori, glancing around nervously. A very good question. They may have made some good time, but the road was nowhere in sight.

“What supplies do we have?” asked Thorin, looking his company over.

“We’ve got three packs of hot dogs, two jumbo bean cans, and— one potato,” answered Bombur.

“Water?”

“Lost it. Didn’t make the fall.”

“I’ve got my water bottle on me,” added Nori. 

“Aye, I’ve mine as well,” said Bofur.

“Mine’s broken,” Ori said, staring at his crushed stainless steal water bottle sadly.

“Equipment?” 

“Kili and I have our violins,” said Fili.

“I hid the spare strings in my jacket!” Kili said proudly.

Oin shook his head “Lost most of our gear, laddie. Most of it was still in the van, and almost everything we brought didn’t make it out of the mountain.”

“I’ve still got my drums, but a few of the smaller ones are battered,” said Bombur. He had taken apart the drum set to make it easier to carry, and had the largest drums slung over his back and front.

“We’ve got the gas stove for cooking,” said Bofur, “And some kindling for a fire. Most of our cooking equipment is here, but not all of it.”

“Dwalin and I have our guitars,” continued Thorin grimly, “And Gandalf—when he feels inclined to join us—has Glamdring,” he paused, and then suddenly smiled. “And our hobbit has his guitar as well, of course.”

Bilbo blinked, blindsided by the uncharacteristic inclusion by the dwarf vocalist. “Er, yes, though I’m not much good with it.”

Thorin waved a hand at him, “We’ll teach you.”

“Ah, but—“ The dwarf silenced the hobbit’s protests with a stern glare.

“Right,” he continued, ignoring Bilbo’s uncomfortable shuffling. “Where exactly are we? Nori? Bifur?”

“As far as I can tell,” began Nori, “This Carrock here is about a mile or so from the road, which should be north of us. We make for it and we’ll be there in half an hour, give or take.”

“How long would it take to get to Erebor on foot?” asked Thorin, frowning.

Nori hummed, looking at his phone. “With the original plan to take the southern road it’d take…ah, about, eh…three months.”

“Three months!?”

“More like four really.”

“We’ll never make it in time!”

“Durin’s Day is October 31, it’s mid August!”

“It’s just as long if we take the northern road, and that’s assuming we’re not stopped by goblins as we’ll be going right past Gundabad and the ice and storms and all.”

“And what of the forest road?” asked Thorin, halting all conversation.

“Mirkwood?!”

Nori tapped away on his phone for a moment “…About a month on foot to cross the forest. Then about another month to make it to the mountain. It’s tight, but we could do it. Not much room for error, and if at all possible I’d recommend we rent a van or get a ride from Laketown. They’ll have something we can use.”

Thorin gritted his teeth. “Then Mirkwood it is.”

“Yes, Mirkwood would be the best way to go,” said Gandalf, appearing suddenly from the trees.

“Gandalf,” greeted Thorin. “Did you contact your friend?”

“Oh yes, indeed. Now, why don’t we all head on over to the road,” said Gandalf. “It’s only about a half-hour’s walk.”

They all picked themselves up and followed the wizard’s lead, most far too tired from the relatively sleepless day or so to do much else but grumble. Bilbo found himself walking beside Fili and Kili, who were only too happy to fill in their hobbit about how they had all escaped from Goblin Town.

Apparently, when the metal catwalk they were on had collapsed, it had slid down the walls of the cavern, taking the dwarves with it. Fortunately they all arrived at the bottom more or less unharmed, and even more fortunately was the fact that they had landed right next to a glowing red EXIT sign, leading them out of the mountain before the goblins could get down to their level. It must have been the same exit Bilbo had come from, if they had managed to meet again out in the wilderness.

When they finally came to the road, just about everyone slumped down into the grass, making a small camp with what they had, which wasn’t a lot to be honest. The loss of the van was keenly felt as well, the bathroom facilities most especially. Most had managed to hold on to their sleeping bags, though some were missing pillows. Bilbo had both of pillow and sleeping bag miraculously, though they were damp from his time in depths of Goblin Town.

They made no fire, but brought out the gas stove, Bombur quickly stirring up some beans and hotdogs in a (dented) pot and dishing it out with (equally dented) cutlery, many receiving spoons instead of forks as most of those seemed to have gone missing.

Bilbo spent the meal largely staring up at the wide-open sky peaking from beneath the leaves of the half forest they found themselves in, drinking in the stars and the gentle breeze ruffling through the leaves. He had had quite enough of closed in spaces and dark, stony walls, thank you.

Dwalin and Balin plopped down on either side of the hobbit. “Well laddie, grab your guitar there,” started Balin. “It’s time we taught you how to use it.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, “Are you-are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense,” said Balin, waving his hand dismissively at the idea, “It’s no trouble.

“You’re more of a bother if you can’t defend yourself,” grunted Dwalin. “’Sides, you’re not bad at lyrics, I’d like to see what damage you could do with the use of a proper instrument to back you up.”

 

“Alright,” agreed Bilbo tentatively, shyly reaching for his guitar. “But I warn you, I really haven’t done this in decades. And even then I wasn’t any good.”

“That’s what we’re here for, eh?” said Blain pleasantly, reaching out to correct Bilbo’s hands on the instrument. “Hands like this, lad.”

“I didn’t realize that you played, Balin,” said Bilbo, surprised that it was the elder of the Lin brothers who was teaching him, not the younger.

“Oh aye,” chuckled Balin, “Though my playing days are long over now.”

“Were you ever part of a band?”

“Aye, I used to be part of _Oakenshield_ itself, backup guitar.”

“What is Oakenshield?” asked Bilbo, the question had been nagging at him for quite some time now. “It has something to do with Thorin, right?”

“ _Oakenshield_ is the old band that we had back when Erebor was ours,” grumbled Dwalin. “It was Oakensheild that got it’s name slandered and participated in the great Concert-Battle of Azanulbizar.”

At Bilbo’s confused expression, Balin picked up. “You recall that particular pale orc from earlier? The one you stopped from skewering Thorin?” Bilbo nodded, shivering slightly.

“I wish I could forget.”

“Azog is his name. Azog the Defiler. Azog and Thorin go way back. In fact Azog takes us all the way back to Thror, Thorin’s grandfather and lead vocalist of his own band Arkenstone, back in the day. Now, _Erebor_ was a music haven, a true music and recording hub, a shining beacon of innovation and creation to all of middle earth. Though it was founded by the dwarves of Durin’s descent, and always supported those dwarven musicians fully. Thror himself was the head CEO.”

“When Smaug took Erebor he brought an awful lot down with him, and many bands were misplaced, suddenly having no support and no place to stay and work on their music. Thror was all but mad with the loss. And well, he became obsessed with Moria, being yet another famous dwarven music center, also overrun with foul creatures. One day he simply up and left, and wandered right into the gates of Moria.”

“We did see Thror again, though…not alive. Let’s just say laddie, Azog was behind his demise, and he flaunted it, delighting in our outrage. And that is what started the Concert-Battle of Azanuilbizar. It was a fearsome battle to be sure, and I was rocking right alongside Thorin and my brother here of course.”

“It was a hard battle for all of us,” said Dwalin, voice gruff. “We all lost someone. They completely outmatched us. Me and Balin lost our father, part of Thror’s old band. And Thorin…”

“Bombur’s our drummer, as you know,” said Balin, picking up where his brother had trailed off and reaching a hand across to pat the huge dwarf on the shoulder. “Though he’s new. The Company has just recently been formed, mostly made out of our old band members or relatives of them, like Fili and Kili, though the Urs are all new. Our old drummer died that day on the battlefield. His name was Frerin. Thorin’s younger brother.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, eyes widening. “I am so sorry for your loss. And for your father…”

“No no, it’s alright, laddie.” Balin said, waving him off. “Haven’t quite been able to play anymore myself since that day, though I find no greater joy in watching this lot have a go at it. I’d still like to see us get back at that dragon, even if I’m not behind a guitar anymore.”

“But that’s quite enough talk,” lectured the elder dwarf. “Back to your lessons now, and no more distracting me with questions! I know what you were doing.”

Dwalin laughed as Bilbo blushed sheepishly. “You’re not getting out of it that easy now, you need to know how to defend yourself. What if you were separated from the group again?”

“That’s just what Gandalf said,” grumbled Bilbo.

“Well I’ll be, I’m actually agreeing with his rock wizardness for once.”

Bilbo had just begun to clumsily pick out a sort of a tune under the brothers guidance when there was a large rumble, and their little campsite was suddenly flooded with light. A massive truck had pulled over right beside their spot on the road, and the dwarves all jumped to their feet, scrambling for instruments or whatever they had on them.

A huge, giant bear of a man lumbered threateningly from the truck, looming over their party. “What are dwarves doing out in the wild?” the man growled.

“Ah, Beorn,” called Gandalf, smiling at the hulking man. “Just the man I wanted to see.”


	7. Mirkwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Company_ is forced to take the long trek through Mirkwood forest, a place full of dark twisted sound and glowing mushrooms. (It's a 'trip' alright.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said chapters would come out every other day? Ha ha ha...ah, that's funny. Surprisingly, I'm much slower at editing and fine-tuning than the initial writing of a thing (sorry about that!)
> 
> Anyway, suggested listening for this chapter would be [hobbitingaround's Mirkwood playlist](http://8tracks.com/kacydoodles/don-t-get-lost-in-mirkwood/), which works for this chapter and the next. This chapter is mostly all the trippy, psychedelic, trance stuff.
> 
> Bilbo's spider song - [Old Fat Spider](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKdsBlRNgX0/)

Everyone sprang into action, going into their defensive formation, instruments or whatever blunt items they had at the ready. The huge man’s nostrils flared as he glowered down at them, eerily illuminated by the headlights of his truck.

“You,” said the man, pinning the rock wizard with a glare. “What do you want?”

“Ah, yes,” Gandalf chuckled, moving to the front of the group. “We are much honoured to make the acquaintance of the great Beorn, of course—“

“Who are you?” asked Beorn, unmoved.

“Didn’t Gandalf say this was his friend?” asked Dori in what he thought to be a quiet voice.

“Wait, he doesn’t know—“

“ _I_ am the Rock Wizard Gandalf,” said the wizard, cutting off the muttering behind him, and turning to send the dwarves a warning glare. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me? My cousin Radagast lives around these parts and—“

“Radagast has never spoken of you,” growled Beorn, no more impressed than before. “What are you doing in these parts?”

“Yes, well, we are traveling, though it seems we have lost our van.”

“And now you want my help,” it wasn’t a question, and from the harsh glare of the man’s eyes they wouldn’t be getting any kind of assistance today. 

Gandalf gave a chuckle and Bilbo could barely believe it, the wizard actually seemed to be shuffling uncomfortably, trying and failing to charm this man. And the thought of being around someone even a powerful rock wizard was uncomfortable around was a very daunting one indeed. Bilbo moved inched a bit further behind Dwalin, not wanting that thunderous glare to fall on him.

“Well, you see, we are in quite a bad spot at the moment. Everything was fine until we crossed the Misty Mountains. Ran into some goblins, not to mention the orcs.”

“Ugh. Horrid creatures,” said Beorn with a grunt. He eyed the group suspiciously. “And how did you get away, then? You want me to believe that this dwarven band bested the Goblin King? Him and his infernal dance,” he trailed off in a growl.

“Well, actually yes,” said Gandalf with a smile. “In fact Thorin here, lead vocalist of _The Company_ slayed the Goblin King himself, along with Dwalin our lead guitar.”

“No.”

“No?” repeated Gandalf quizzically.

“I have no love for dwarves,” said Beorn, ignoring the bristling and angry glares being sent his way from the band. “They only care about their metal and rock, they’re too busy making their great noise to hear anything else, deaf to the pulse of the earth.”

“And what would you know of music, man?” asked Thorin, eyes blazing furiously at the insult to his people. Beorn just laughed, a booming sound that shook the ground faintly with its force.

“Do not mistake me for a man,” said Beorn, his eyes glowing faintly as a wolf or a cat’s might. “I am a shape shifter. You of all people should be aware of what my kind can do. Or are you not intending to challenge the worm and take back Erebor?”

“Surely you can realize how this would benefit everyone,” cut in Gandalf. “If Smaug is defeated a great blight will be taken off of the land. You know of the desolation, how nothing grows anymore, the land twisted into something barren from his power.”

“Enough,” commanded Beorn. “I dislike dwarves,” he said again, glaring at them all. He sighed suddenly, “But I hate orcs and goblins more. And that great slug.”

“Wonderful!” declared Gandalf, even as Beorn glared at him again. “We would be ever so obliged if you would give us a lift to the edge of Mirkwood. And perhaps some supplies wouldn’t go amiss.”

Beorn gave a grunt. “And how many are you?”

“Fifteen,” replied Gandalf pleasantly. The skin changer groaned dramatically, but did wave them over to the truck, pulling open the doors at the back.

“Never thought I’d have fourteen dwarves and a wizard in my truck,” he muttered to himself irritably, sliding down the loading ramp and gesturing for the dwarves to start climbing inside.

“Just thirteen,” the wizard said, smiling reassuringly. Beorn frowned down at him.

“You’ve either got another wizard with you, or—“

“Oh no no!” said Gandalf, “In fact our fifteenth member is—Mr. Baggins!—is a, here he is,” Bilbo yelped as he found himself suddenly dragged in front of the massive skin changer, staring up at the thoroughly intimidating man. 

The hobbit stuttered out a “H-How do you do?” causing Beorn’s eyes to widen, and then—

“ _Bunny,_ ” The hobbit squawked as he was quite rudely plucked off of his feet and held gently in a giant paw of a hand. The other massive hand came around and pet Bilbo’s curls, the skin changer smiling down at the flabbergasted hobbit. 

“Why did you not say you were traveling with a bunny?” asked Beorn, sending the far too amused Gandalf a scowl before all but cooing at the lawyer.

“I _beg_ your pardon,” huffed Bilbo at the indignity, glaring up at the great man. “But I am _not_ a bunny. I am a hobbit, from the Shire.”

“Bunny,” Beorn said, nodding his great head as if in agreement. “Come, you shall ride with me up in the front.” 

“Now _see_ here!” Bilbo yelped as he was carried off by the massive man. “You can’t just go picking up a body and carting them around like luggage! I’ll have you know I am a very respectable hobbit, and will not stand for such treatment!” Beorn just chuckled and made his way to the front of the truck, ignoring the snickering from the dwarves and the death glares the hobbit was sending at them, and setting the significantly ruffled lawyer down in the passenger seat.

X|]|[|X

It turned out that Beorn was actually familiar with hobbits, enough so that he insisted on their similarity to fluffy bunnies. Bilbo huffed and puffed and glared and argued until he was blue in the face but the great skin changer only laughed and petted him on the head, insisting that this was very bunny-like behaviour. Any sulking that may or may not have been done on Bilbo’s part afterwards was treated in a similar fashion.

Long, long ago hobbits used to live near the Anduin valley, before they eventually migrated west across the Misty Mountains and eventually into what would be the Shire. And Beorn was such an old and powerful being that he had actually known and remembered them from before their migration. 

“I have not had bunnies in these parts for far too long,” he said, giant hands relaxed on the wheel as he drove them along the road. “If they do come through here, they are always in a hurry. They like being in their burrows, all snug and safe,” Bilbo merely sniffed and crossed his arms, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the insufferable skin changer. “Very reasonable your kind,” Beorn said, giving a grunt of approval. 

It took about two hours of driving along the nearly deserted road to reach the eves of Mirkwood, and that was where Beorn let them off. They filed out of the truck (or in Bilbo’s case, was carried out) and watched as the skin changer rummaged around in the back, putting together supplies for them.

“Mirkwood is a dangerous place these days,” he said. “There’s a dark, seeping presence there, twisting everything wholesome into a dark shadow of itself. A ringing,” he said, grunting decisively. “Almost too low to make out, taking over and deforming the natural beat, the pulse itself is corrupted.”

“Isn’t there an elf lord in that forest?” asked Bilbo, wriggling his toes anxiously as he gazed at the dark eves of the wood, barely visible in the dark.

“That scum,” snarled Thorin, glaring into the woods. “He betrayed my people when we needed his help the most. He refused to stand by us when Smaug framed _Oakenshield_ and withdrew his support, too cowardly to stand with us despite our alliance.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, rather taken aback. He’d always been fascinated by elves, and in all honesty he had never gotten over his near hero-worship of the graceful beings. “Is that—I mean, did he really..?” he sent a confused look at Gandalf hoping the rock wizard would be able to shed more light on what to Bilbo was a completely unheard of thing. 

Gandalf sighed, “King Thranduil is not Lord Elrond. The Mirkwood elves are very different from the other elves of this world.”

“More dangerous, less wise,” rumbled Beorn, turning to the group with packs and a stack of flashlights. He ruffled the hobbit’s hair. “That wood is no place for travelers on foot. Or bunnies…”

Bilbo just barely bit back a sigh, and sent his best glare at the snickering company over his shoulder. Beorn gently pressed a large flashlight into the lawyer’s hand, and started to hand out the rest of them to the dwarves. “Do not drink or eat anything in there, all living things have been tainted with the darkness. Do not stray from the path,” He growled. “Creatures in there will try to trick you, but do not stray into the wild. The magic is too thick for mortals to see through.”

“Yes, do keep to the path,” said Gandalf. “If you lot want to see the other side, you had best all take Beorn’s advice.”

“You speak as if you’re not going with us,” said Balin carefully, frowning at the rock wizard.

“My dear dwarf, that’s because I am not.”

“What?!”

“You can’t leave!”

“We need your help!”

“Now way!”

Gandalf held up a hand to quiet the loud protests, which did nothing to stop the dwarves from yelling. “Quiet!” he eventually called, “Something has come up which needs my urgent attention.”

“What about us?” asked Dori, bristling. “You would just abandon us when we’re at our most vulnerable, without the van and walking through a dangerous cursed forest?”

“I wouldn’t unless if I had no choice,” said the rock wizard, sighing heavily. “Unfortunately, there are only so many rock wizards in Middle Earth, and I can no sooner be in many places at once than I can avoid my duties or expect others to fulfill them for me. I shall meet up with you later. Expect to see me before the concert!” And with that the wizard stepped into the passenger seat of the truck, sending them all a last wink and mysterious eye twinkle before closing the door.

“Blast that wizard!” cursed Dwalin, muttering angrily.

Beorn snorted out a huge breath and scowled at the truck, “I never agreed to drive him anywhere. Bah.” He turned and knelt down in front of Bilbo, looking at him carefully. “Be careful, little bunny,” he said solemnly, making the hobbit halfheartedly huff at the name. “And keep your dwarves out of trouble.”

X|]|[|X

It was a long, long walk through the dark forest. Beorn had been kind enough to lend them some supplies, bags and ties so they could carry all of their surviving equipment. But the loss of the van was a hard blow.

All equipment and personal belongings had to be carried, along with food and flashlights. Bilbo’s shoulders were aching soon enough, the straps of his pack rubbing painful marks against his unsuspecting flesh. His guitar was thankfully quite light, though being somewhat unaccustomed to carting around so much it did him little comfort.

Mirkwood was something else. Stepping under the eves of the first trees had felt a bit like stepping into a mist. There was a heavy stifling presence to everything, as if it was aware somehow, almost moving.

During the daytime enough light would filter down through the thick leaves to illuminate the bright, florescent vegetation laying thickly over everything like a blanket. It had started off as just a few patches of violently coloured plants here and there that the younger dwarves had gathered around and taken pictures of excitedly. Kili had joked about eating the mushrooms and going on a ‘real trip’, but Thorin had glared him down and Dori had tutted disapprovingly. Beorn had warned them after all not to eat anything in the forest. But the deeper and deeper into the woods they went, the more and more of it there was, as if the forest became wilder and powerful they further they went.

Nighttime was an entirely different matter. The forest literally sucked all light out of the place, leaving it pitch black and cutting off the sky entirely. The odd plants and fungal growth omitted an eerie glow, and sometimes Bilbo could swear there were eyes amongst it, reminding him uncomfortably of Gollum and his huge bulbous glowing eyes. Sometimes they could hear a great rustling run through the forest, though not a breath of wind made it past the thick growth.

Beorn’s flashlights were an absolute blessing, as the further along they went, the more overgrown the road became, and the darker and heavier the air fell. It was oppressive, this heavy feeling of the silently looming trees all around which seemed to shift and move, blurring in and out of position. 

Stepping over a massive tree root dripping in thick, glowing moss, Bilbo reflected that maybe it was for the best they had lost the van, as there was no way anything could drive over this sorry excuse for a road. And even if they could, the idea of trying to direct a moving vehicle in this place that at times seemed to throb and expand without warning was a very bad idea for everyone concerned. 

At least they were prepared for the walk this way. The flashlights were powered by a built in wind-up function, allowing them to manually generate the energy needed for them to work. The hobbit did not want to imagine trying to walk through the forest without any kind of proper light, or trying to set up camp in the pitch dark without a light.

As it was, the flashlights only seemed to deepen the heavy claustrophobic spell that fell over them all, the circle of light cast by their glow tunneling their vision, making it seems as if they were in a great cave that was pressing in from all sides. It was terrifying in a way, when they stopped at night to set up camp. It felt as if thousands and thousands of eyes were watching them, drawn to the light in such a dark place, as if they were all under a spotlight, with their audience just waiting for a chance to strike from any and every direction. 

The first time they had come to grips with the forest’s unnerving nature had been a few days into their journey. They were trekking along in a line, Thorin leading (for once! The dwarf had a notoriously bad sense of direction, but as they were strictly following the path the others had deemed it safe enough for the dwarf not to get them all hopelessly lost) with the rest following in single file or in pairs.

Bilbo had started to lift his curly hobbit foot to step over a small hole in the path when everything gave a giant _throb_. It was like there was a great, deep heartbeat that was suddenly superimposed over his own, and everything slowed and stretched in distortion. The small hole in front of the hobbit suddenly gaped wide before him, and he staggered backwards in a rush of fear and dizziness, black dots creeping across the edges of his vision and a sick twisting feeling uncurling in his stomach.

“Whoa, steady there lad,” came a voice. Blinking rapidly, Bilbo had looked up to find himself leaning against a concerned Bofur, the trees suddenly back to normal with no sign of their earlier distortion.

“What...” began Bilbo, looking around in confusion, meeting the bewildered or concerned faces of his companions.

“You alright?” asked Dori, eying the hobbit critically.

“What happened?” asked Ori, worrying his knitted mitts, “You got really pale Mr. Baggins.”

“Lawyer! Stop holding everyone up!” called Thorin from the front. 

“Something’s wrong with Bilbo!” replied Bofur.

“What? Oh, nono, really it’s nothing,” the hobbit said hastily, waving his hands around in protest as Thorin gave a thunderous frown and began to stomp over to him. “Just a bit dizzy for a moment there, nothing to worry about!”

The vocalist opened his mouth to say something when he was cut off by a cry. Everyone looked over to the front of the line where Kili was sprawled on the ground, his brother half sitting beside him.

“Kili!” 

“Oh…wow…” said the dwarf, giving a laugh even as everyone grouped around him and he was pulled up to his feet, swaying unsteadily. “There’s so many colours…” Fili staggered to his feet with only a little assistance, blinking around bewilderingly.

“Fili. Kili!” barked Thorin, putting his hands on both of their shoulders, half holding them up and glaring at them in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Fili shook his head, “I don’t…”

Kili’s eyes suddenly widened, his head snapping up. “Oh, what was that?! It got really weird all the sudden...” Thorin’s nostrils flared in anger.

“I thought I told you to not eat any mushrooms! And what do you go and do?”

“But we didn’t!” said Kili, shaking his head.

“Really uncle, we didn’t,” added Fili, brow furrowed in confusion. “It just happened, really suddenly, whatever it was.”

“What else am I supposed to think when you both start tripping over yourselves and speaking of colours!?” Yelled their uncle. From what short time Bilbo had known the dwarf, Thorin had a notoriously ruff way of showing concern, worry often manifesting as frustration or anger, and more than usually he would end up biting someone’s head off instead of comforting them. The hobbit knew this very well indeed, being on the receiving end of the angry dwarf more times than he cared to count (though in his case, the dwarf had actually been frustrated many a time instead of concerned). It still hurt to see him yelling at his nephews like that, especially when they looked all hurt and out of sorts.

 

“Master Baggins,” began Thorin, turning on the hobbit and glaring at him darkly, “My nephews are just barely adults and prone to bad decisions, but I expected better of _you_. Someone of your age and standing eating mushrooms just for—“

“Oh now, just _half a moment!_ ” interrupted Bilbo, huffing up in affronted indignity. “I most certainly did not try any of those frankly alarming mushrooms. Shame on you for even suggesting it, Thorin Oakenshield! I’ll have you know that we hobbits are something of experts on mushrooms, and any fauntling could tell you to stay well away from those things. I have done nothing of the sort and I’ll thank you to take your offensive suspicions elsewhere!”

The dwarf looked suitable chastised after Bilbo’s little outburst, the hobbit noted with no small sense of satisfaction. Thorin gave a small nod of his head and asked “Then what did happen?” which was as close to an apology he was likely to get from the aggravating vocalist. 

“Look, has anyone else felt really dizzy all of the sudden?” asked Bilbo. “Or maybe felt like the trees were moving somehow or shifting? Seen the glowing lights dancing around a bit?” The dwarves muttered to each other in uncomfortable agreement, some looking about the forest warily and shuffling closer together.

“Beorn did warn us of the dangers of this forest,” said Balin.

“Kili, are you alright?” asked Thorin, clasping his nephew on the shoulder.

“I’m fine, it was just really sudden, but it’s gone now,” replied the violinist, smiling up at his uncle.

“Fili?” The golden haired dwarf shook his head as his uncle approached, worried frown still in place. 

“Whatever it was is gone now.”

Thorin let out a sigh and clenched his fists. “Fucking elves…” he growled angrily under his breath. “Everyone stay close. Be on your guard. If this forest itself can manipulate our senses we must be vigilant. Make sure you have at least one other dwarf with you at all times, I won’t have anyone being caught unawares by themselves in this cursed place.”

“Oh! Oh! Let’s do a buddy system!” shouted Bofur, giving a great dimply smile. “Everyone pick a buddy for the day!”

“Does this mean whoever is with Bilbo has to have another dwarf as well?” asked Ori, picking nervously at his knitted mitts. “Because you said everyone should have ‘at least one dwarf with them at all times’, and well, he’s a hobbit, not a dwarf, so does that mean he’d need an extra dwarf, or..?”

“Of course not!” huffed Bilbo, at the same time Dwalin said “sound’s right.” 

“Now see here!” began the hobbit, clearly affronted at the thought that he did not equal up to one dwarf. “I don’t think I like what you’re insinuating, master dwarf.”

“You did nearly fall over a while ago,” said Dwalin, crossing his arms and looking down at the smaller being. 

“So did Fili and Kili! Only they _did_ fall over, unlike me, so your argument is clearly—“

“Enough!” said Thorin, cutting them off. At this point all of them had come to the realization that no matter how soft their hobbit looked, he was still very much a _lawyer_ , with a sharp tongue and a stubborn streak that could match any dwarf. Not wanting to have an epic argument that could go on for hours and hours and hours, it was best to stop it now. “Groups of two or three,” he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stop an oncoming headache he could feel building. “Or four, so long as everyone keeps track of each other and stays together.”

“Um, what about when he have to…you know…?” added Ori, blushing shyly as everyone turned to look at him.

“Ori!” Dor admonished, sending the younger dwarf hiding his reddening face behind his notebook in mortification.

“If you have to take a piss, do it as a group,” grunted Dwalin bluntly.

“Dwalin, really!” said Dori, clearly scandalized at such language.

“What?” asked the lead guitarist. “You don’t have to look, just stay in formation.”

“Enough!” barked Thorin again. “Let’s move. The less time we spend bickering, the sooner we’ll be out of this Mahal-cursed place.”

Unfortunately that was just the beginning of the things that would go wrong in Mirkwood. Within hours, Ori had nearly fallen flat on his face, Oin walked into a tree, Nori and Bifur had collided painfully somehow, and Bombur fell over into a ditch and it had taken nearly five of them to pull the large drummer out. By the end of the next day everyone had had at least one alarming experience, many ending up with bruises or dirt smeared all over their clothes. 

The usual talk and bickering died down, the surrounding wood sucking the good mood and energy right out of them, the silence only broken once by Bilbo’s shocked exclamation of “I’ve forgotten to close my bedroom window in Bag End!” The dwarves had all chuckled at the distraught hobbit, and the mood seemed to lighten a bit after that. But in no time at all it had dropped right back to its low and stayed there, determined to remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Gandalf had said Mirkwood hadn’t always been this way. ‘Green Wood the Great’ it used to be called in earlier days, though as it was Gandalf speaking you could never be too sure what _earlier_ actually meant, if it was a few years ago or a whole thousand of them.

There was certainly something deeply wrong with the place, Bilbo reflected, huddled miserably in his sleeping bag one night next to Bofur (who had gladly liked arms with him and declared them as ‘crisis buddies’ on most days), eyes fixed on the darkness outside of the glowing circle of light cast from the flashlight. They had begun to assign watches, as to always have at least one person awake and aware at all times. Something moved out in the darkness, rustling a cluster of glowing mushrooms. The hobbit gulped and shifted slowly back against Bofur, taking comfort in the dwarf’s solid and steady form at his side, and the comforting chorus of snoring coming from the rest of his companions.

Not even the Old Forest on the borders of the Shire felt quite like this, and that was a truly ancient and powerful forest. The trees were known to move and on occasion had attacked the hedge keeping the forest out of the Shire, but even then nothing _glowed_. He was beginning to think that simply being in the forest was as good as eating glowing mushrooms. The dull phosphorescent light seemed to move, almost dancing at times, leaving them all with an odd sense of detachment. Laying down, when he shut his eyes everything seemed to spin, the bright, luminous colours dancing behind his eyelids as he tried to go to sleep, making him nauseous. 

Beorn’s words came back to him then, when he spoke of the pulse of the forest being wrong, and an odd ringing noise that grew and grew. He shook himself, burrowing down deeper into his sleeping bag and pressing back with his foot to nudge the back of Bofur’s leg, needing the touch to ground him and try to dispel the heavy feeling pressing down on him from all sides, his heartbeat sounding odd and too loud in his ears. What he wouldn’t do for just a minute out of this oppressive forest. Just to breath the fresh and clear his head!

When he finally drifted off, he dreamt of his own little fireplace and armchair back in Bag End. And great glowing eyes that peered over his shoulder, lurking the background and waiting for their chance to strike while everything spun crazily without moving at all.

X|]|[|X

The overwhelming feeling of wrongness got stronger and stronger the deeper into Mirkwood they traveled, unsurprisingly. A strange tingle in the hobbit’s toes began to build, as well as and odd ringing behind his ears. Then his feet actually began to feel a bit numb—and he suspected it was not entirely from the strain of carrying his backpack, sleeping bag and his acoustic guitar, little as it was. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bilbo found himself wishing for boots, if only to cease direct contact with the forest floor and the strange glowing plants that covered it.

Most days Bilbo found his lips began to go numb followed by a tingling in the very tips of his fingers and ears. It threw off his perception, making him dizzy and out of sorts and clumsy in his movements. It reminded him of the times he had had a little too much fun out at the _Green Dragon_ with his cousins, the light buzzing in his ears, the odd sense of detachment, and the worrying notion of spinning every time he closed his too dry eyes for longer than a moment. Which had been happening now more and more often when he was awake. It was becoming difficult to tell the difference between having his eyes open or shut, the same colours and spots seeming to dance across his vision all the time, very little light making it’s way this deep in the forest causing them to rely very heavily on the flashlights even in the day.

Climbing over moss and tree roots was steadily becoming more and more of a challenge, the motions needed to heft himself up and over just took more and more effort, and more than once he had ended up flat on the ground without any clear understanding of just how that had happened. He was thirsty most of the time now, though they had to be careful with their food and water to not run out. Beorn had explicitly warned them against eating or drinking anything in the forest. Bilbo thought he understood and agreed with this sentiment full heartedly, though it did mean they had to watch their supplies carefully, and hope they would last them until they reached the end of this forest.

“Thorin. We’ve lost the path.”

“What?”

“How could we loose the path?”

“We were just on it.”

“It’s right there! We’ve been walking on it for days!”

Bilbo just blinked blearily at the arguing, leaning tiredly against a tree as the voices washed over him. 

“No we haven’t! That’s just glowing moss!”

“When was the last time anyone can actually remember seeing the path? Really seeing it?”

“But it’s always looked like this? Wasn’t the path always moss?”

“No! It was cement.”

“I thought it was wood chips?”

“That’s what I saw.”

“Enough! We’ve clearly lost it. Everyone spread out and find it!”

“How are we supposed to find something if we don’t know what it looks like?”

“What if we’ve been walking around in circles for days?”

“Were we ever on the path at all?”

“That won’t do anyone any good. What’s done is done. We must find a way out!”

“Which way!?”

Bilbo noted that there was a large patch of violently glowing fungus against his arm and he reached without thinking to stroke the large caps. His fingertips came away glowing, and he watched in detached fascination as he wiped the substance off on his jacket. It stuck there on his suit, casting the fabric in an odd green hew. There was a hand on his shoulder, and then Bofur was nudging him away from the tree. Looking up, the hobbit saw his companions were already moving again, voices agitated and distressed, though he couldn’t quite make out any clear words.

“Come on,” mumbled Bofur, pulling the hobbit after the others.

X|]|[|X

“Hey! How about someone climbs a tree and has a look around?” called Bilbo one day, about two and a half miserable weeks into their journey through Mirkwood. All day he could hear the company muttering to each other, as if in argument, but he couldn’t make out any words, and no one he looked at actually seemed to be talking. The need to hear something coherent—break the odd muted bubble they seemed to be floating in and hear actual words was overpowering, and suddenly all Bilbo could think of was how wonderful it would be see the sun again, just for a moment. “See how far we are from the end of this wood, you know?”

“Great idea.”

“Yes someone should.”

“Agreed, someone should definitely get on it.”

 

It took him a moment to realize they were all looking at him. Bilbo did a quick double take before stepping to the side, glancing behind himself in the hope that there was someone else there. There wasn’t.

“ _Someone_ had better get going,” Thorin said, raising an eyebrow at the hobbit.

Bilbo sent Thorin his most scathing glare, breathing out though his nose. “Fine. I get it. I’m expendable. Send the bloody hobbit!” he muttered to himself as he walked over to a particularly large tree.

He glared at it for a minute before spinning around to face his companions. “ _Someone_ had better give me a leg up!” Unsurprisingly, they were all to eager to help him.

“Bah. Dwarves,” he said to himself grumpily, getting glowing sap all over his hands and in his foot hair. His poor suit had really been through the works. He had brought a spare of course, but he had been expecting to be staying at motels or at least stopping by laundry mats, not hiking through a cursed forest for weeks and getting all kinds of offending stuff on his clothes. His poor father would have been horrified.

Climbing the tree was certainly perhaps more difficult than it should have been, the numbness in the hobbit’s fingers and his strange bouts of dizziness doing nothing to help. But his head had cleared some from talking with his companions, and thankfully his limbs didn’t feel quite so heavy or clumsy as they had as of late. As he passed over a patch of glowing mushrooms he had to close his eyes against them, seeing their vivid colours dancing behind his eyelids and blotching his vision for a few moments when he opened them again. He had climbed for a good long while before he even neared the top, the voices of his friends fading away into a faint murmur that seemed to echo all around him as he climbed.

When he finally broke the tree line he was blinded by light and had to shut his eyes for long moments. A soft breeze hit him and he sagged into it, the feeling blissful after weeks of nothing but stale and stuffy air. Laughing, he tipped his head back blissfully and closed his eyes, breathing in the crisp, clear air deeply. It was as if he had come up from underwater, his senses sharpening and his head clearing of a headache he hadn’t been aware of having. That awful ringing sound had finally stopped.

His irritation towards the dwarves faded more and more as he felt the sun on his face and saw the bright butterflies circling overhead. After all, they were all still down there, without any nice sky or cool breeze. But he supposed it served them right for sending him up this massive tree all by himself. Though if Bilbo had his way, they would all be out of the forest, and then they could all enjoy the nice breeze and sun.

Speaking of which, he opened his eyes and quickly scanned the treetops searching for anything that would suggest they were close to the end. Keeping a firm grip in a branch with his hands, he carefully raised his leg, twisting so he could turn and take a look around. 

“I can see the end!” he shouted, spotting the forest clearing up some distance away. “We’re almost through! Oh, and the Erebor skyscraper!” The great building loomed in the distance, rising up out of the mountain that was its base. It was notably much closer than what they had all seen from atop the Carrock, standing like some tall monolith towering over everything else.

“Hullo?” he called again, eager to let his friends know the good news. “Can you hear me? We’re nearly there! I swear, if you lot are just pretending you can’t hear me just to mess with me…”

A sudden crunch cut the hobbit off, and he jerked around to face the direction of the noise. “…Bofur? Fili? Balin?” A series of crunches followed, and as he watched the treetops began to sway in the distance. Whatever it was, it was something large. Something large coming right towards him.

“Hullo…” he said again faintly, hands begging to sweat. He hastily shifted and crouched down, beginning to make his way back down to his friends.

Climbing trees was certainly nothing new for the son of Belladonna Took. As a fauntling he had scrambled up and down more trees than he could count, looking for elves and pretending to be one, much to the delight of his mother, and the outward exasperation of his father (though Bungo never managed to hide the fond look when he saw his son grinning up at him, covered in sap and going on about the fair folk.)

Even though it had been years since he had last had reason or need to climb a tree, it was the kind of skill one didn’t really forget, rather like riding a bicycle or kneading dough. However, these trees were certainly not the tame Shire ones he had delighted in, nor were they exactly like any other he had ever seen before in his life.

The strange, glowing fungus and odd insects would be enough to make anyone be cautious, but coupled with the sap and the horrible crunching and crashing sounds making their way ever closer, Bilbo’s descent was less than graceful. It should be noted that if at all possible, one should never climb a tree in a panic. Climbing _down_ from a tree even more so.

Bilbo was lucky that he didn’t topple right off a branch when his foot got caught in a web. A large, sticky web that stuck stubbornly to his foot hair. When he had shaken his foot clear of the stuff, his gaze followed the long web as it descended gracefully, and he noted with a start that it was connected to another tree. As was another web, looking up slowly, his pulse spiked when he saw webs all around him, in the trees, hanging off everything as if a swarm of spiders had passed through here in the short period of time he had been above the tree tops. 

Or perhaps one very large and dangerous spider with glowing eyes and long, hairy legs that stretched out at the hobbit from its web. 

Letting out a startled yell, Bilbo tried to get way from it, and succeeded in only toppling off the tree branch and getting caught in more webbing. Thankfully the webs were not strong enough to completely halt his descent, but slowed it, allowing him to kick wildly and free himself, landing in a sticky, webby heap on the forest floor. Looking up frantically, he saw the horrible sight of the eight legged creature descending above him, and with a shriek he rolled away, legs caught up in the silken strands.

“Dwalin! Dori! Thorin!” he cried, looking around desperately for his dwarves and catching no sight of them in what poor light was coming down from above. “Bofur! Kili!” The spider dropped down beside him and Bilbo scrambled away, trying to put distance between himself and the creature.

His training coming back to him in a flash, Bilbo reached for his guitar, fumbling with it as the spider hissed and crawled towards him in a flurry of _too many_ legs and pincers. The forest seemed to stretch and throb around it, the dull glowing of flora blurring together with the spiders eyes and spinning drunkenly. His eyes felt heavy, so heavy and dry, his lips and fingers and even his knees now were all tingling and loosing feeling. He could actually feel his heart slowing down, matching up to some incredibly larger, deeper pulse that echoed all around. The ringing in his ears was back but it was soothing somehow, so soothing and warm, like a lullaby…

Bilbo shook himself, trying desperately to clear his vision and his aching head. 

“Stay back!” he shouted at the thing, fumbling with a few chords. Though panicked and clumsy, the few chords cut through the heavy spell the forest wove around itself, bringing everything into sharper focus. The spider hissed and flailed its legs as the guitar strings gave a faint throb, a soft blue glow omitting from them.

“That’s right!” The lawyer called, feeling heartened and strumming his instrument. “I’ve got an elvish guitar! You _should_ be afraid!” Fingers flying, he finished a successful riff, and flawed though it may have been the spider shrieked in agony at the notes and the fierce blue glow, legs flailing wildly before collapsing in a heap. The silky webs trapping the hobbit’s legs fell away, and suddenly the forest seemed to snap back into focus.

Bilbo panted heavily, heart pounding as he scrambled back and away from the motionless spider. After a moment or so he rose shakily to his feet and looked around. What little daylight that had managed to filter down through the leaves and create a gloomy light was fading fast, and soon everything would be cast in pitch darkness save for the pulsing glow of the thick vegetation hanging on everything. Looking around he could see great webs, weaving this way and that, though concentrated in certain areas. Almost as if a great hoard of spiders had passed through at great haste.

“Thorin?” he called quietly, hoping to find his friends yet unwilling to attract any more attention to himself. “Balin?” There was no sign of the Company. “Oh no, not this again,” he quietly moaned to himself. “I promised I wouldn’t get myself separated from the group, and here we are. Oh be-bother and blast it all!”

He took a deep breath and fumbled through his suit jacket for his flashlight. Nothing. Eyes widening, he felt though every pocket, unable to accept that he had somehow dropped his only real source of light and would then be forced to brave the wretched forest completely—

His ring. Smooth, cool metal met his searching fingers and he stopped. Grabbing it, he brought it out and looked at it in the dim light. It was just a simple gold band, but beautiful, so smooth and utterly flawless. Remembering the odd ethereal glow that some things took on when wearing the ring, he slipped it on his finger.

Instantly the forest changed, the dark seemed less oppressive and he could suddenly see much, much clearer. He realized that the constant ringing, the dull throb that echoed and pulsated through the forest had suddenly morphed into something else. No longer was it a soothing pulse but a low, deep sound, twisted and dark, like what the orcs were playing. There was something fundamentally _wrong_ about it. And voices. He could hear voices.

With no other option, he tightened his grip on his guitar and made his way towards them, deftly moving over the thick roots and moss in his way. He was moving away from the tree he had climbed and more than sure he had become turned around somewhere in the struggle with the spider. Yet so were his friends. And a Baggins _never_ abandons their friends or goes back on their word. Not the mention the Tooks who would never dream of backing down when things got dangerous. Being both Took and Baggins, our hobbit didn’t really need to think about doing otherwise.

He followed the spider webs for a time, and the longer he walked the darker and darker it became, even with the help of the ring to lighten his way. And then he saw it:

The spider’s nest. Silken threads dripped off of every branch, every twig, weaving a series of huge, meandering webs netting out through a circle of trees. Scattered here and there amongst the webbing were cocoons, strung up and waiting, some spinning feebly as the webs bounced. For the whole place was _crawling_ with spiders, their great, hairy legs deftly waving as they moved, eyes glowing fiercely in the dark. 

“…They should make freesssshhhhh eatingssssss….”

“…Let’s have a bite nowwww….”

“…Hang them a bit, it makes them juuuuuicer…”

The hobbit nearly gagged in fear and revulsion, the sight far more terrible than he could have ever imagined being possible. Whipping his head around, Bilbo ducked as a spider crawled right across the tree he was standing beside, legs making a dull clicking as they passed. He realized he could actually hear them talking. Which lead him to think that—

There. His stomach twisted as he beheld several hanging cocoons, much larger than the ones he had spotted earlier. The spiders were clustered around them, chattering excitedly, and as Bilbo watched in horror one of them jerked violently, as if…as if…

Pressing a hand to his mouth he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down. Bilbo had never been particularly fond of spiders, having no particular disliking of the creatures, but finding his stomach twisting at the way their legs would move. Seeing these abominations planning to _eat_ his friends (for what else could those cocoons contain?) was almost too much.

A muffled shout dragged his attention back to the cocoon, and he watched in terror as a spider suddenly jabbed at it with its pincers, silencing the poor dwarf.

“…Thiiisss one can be the fiiiiirssssstttt….”

Eyes widening, a sudden wave of anger overcame the usually polite and even-tempered hobbit, and he straightened up and strode into the nest under the writhing, crawling mass of spiders upon their webs, uncaring of the pulse of dark dark sound and gripped his guitar.

No spider was going to eat _his_ dwarves.

Not today, not ever. Thank you very much.

 

One thing that Bilbo had learned from this whole quest and ordeal, was that there was nothing quite like being insulted in song. He knew this from personal experience, having had a whole pack of dwarves invade his house and sing rude songs about his poor cutlery and his person. With this in mind, as well as the hope of letting his friends know he was nearby, Bilbo decided it was time he did a bit of that himself, and after clearing his throat he called out:

“Hey! Spiders! You missed one!”

The creatures stopped and looked about, eyes glowing as they tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. “That’s right you stupid old spiders, I’m right here, but you can’t catch me!”

 

_Lazy lob and crazy cob_

_Are weaving web to wind me_

_I’m much more sweet than other meat_

_But still they cannot find me_

 

His voice may have started a bit shakily, but once he had the tune going his guitar began to glow, heartening the hobbit and allowing him to sing the rest with confidence.

_Here am I_

_Naughty little fly_

_You are fat and lazy_

_You cannot catch me though you try_

_In your cobwebs crazy_

 

Perhaps it wasn’t what the dwarves would have called good, but you must remember he did make it up on the spot. While being surrounded by massive, bloodthirsty spiders. So really, it’s remarkable that he managed to come up with anything at all under the circumstances, let alone made a passable rhyme and strummed at his guitar.

The good news was that it made the spiders angry. The bad news was that _they were angry_ , enraged even. Which was what Bilbo had hoped for. Of course dealing with it was another thing entirely.

“What issss it? Nassssty thing,” they hissed at him, their great hairy legs flailing as they thankfully abandoned the dwarf cocoons and scrambled down towards him, meal forgotten at the threat to their nest, not to mention the insult and the pain from the music. The huge, bloated creatures scrambled all over the clearing, Bilbo ducking in and out to avoid the swarm of angry spiders.

“Hey, old fat spiders! You can’t catch me!” he shouted, deliberately making as much noise as he could and laughing. “You couldn’t even catch a drunk horse!”

This was the cherry on the cake of rage, and as Bilbo darted in and out through the trees and around webs and hairy legs he lashed out with his guitar as best he could at the enraged spiders. Strumming he could do. A note or two here or there. Something vaguely resembling a riff. It wouldn’t work on a whole mess of spiders at once, but for this kind of fast and sneaky work it worked a charm, not to mention using a magical elven guitar. 

“Ha ha! You lot call yourselves predators? Oh _please_ , you’re pathetic!”

On the very edge of his vision he could see the trees moving, the lights spinning and expanding as they had before. Yet something held it back. The soothing pulse of the forest had been stripped bare by his ring and his glowing guitar, keeping it at bay even as the spiders sent out wave after wave of dark sound, trying and failing to slow his heartbeat and confuse his senses. But it did not work this time. 

“What isssssss iiiiiiiit!?” They hissed in fury, as they were hit again and again by sharp little notes and strumming, accompanied by the ever-clear call of “Attercop! Big lazy old lob!”

“It buuuuuuuuuurns! It stiiiiiiingssssssss!!”

“Sting?” Bilbo said to himself, just managing to dodge under a particularly large and vicious spider. He gave a quick strum on his guitar causing the bloated insect to crumple. “That’s not a bad name!”

Heart pounding wildly, he felt the adrenaline rush take over, emboldening him further. Now that he had their attention, he ran deeper into the woods, a trail of enraged, crazily flailing spiders swarming after him. He ran and ducked and darted here and there, until he finally deemed himself far enough and as quietly as he could began to double back to the nest.

Finding it to be abandoned, the hobbit let out a sigh of relief, and with a grimace grabbed a hold of a silky thread hanging down from a tree branch. It pricked lightly at his palms and fingers, but he ignored that in favour of gripping it as tightly as he could, and using it to scale the tree trunk until he could reach the branch. Panting, as though he had plenty of leg muscle (most hobbit did have very strong feet), upper arm and torso he did not. At all. So it was with many a muffled curse that he finally clambered up on top of the branch and looked around.

Just a little ways over to his left was a cluster of dwarf cocoons, and he hastily made his way over to them, trying not to disturb the webs overmuch in have it send vibrations along the whole of it and attract any attention.

Reaching up to the first cocoon Bilbo grabbed at it with his hands, trying to pry the tight webbing apart. This turned out to be utterly useless and all the hobbit accomplished was getting some cuts across his palms and fingers. Cursing, he flapped his hands in the air, trying to lessen the pain.

Sting glowed beside him. “Why not,” he muttered, and reached for the guitar, grimacing for his poor abused hands. Looking around fretfully, he knew that playing would undoubtedly draw attention to himself, but what else was he supposed to do? Taking a deep breath he strummed away, playing the same simple little riff he had while insulting the spiders.

With a snap, the webs gave way, and a struggling Bifur fought his way out of the remaining webs. “Bifur!” called Bilbo, clutching at the dwarf’s arm. The dwarf looked about wildly in confusion, eyes passing the hobbit right over. 

“Bilbo?” he asked. And then he remembered. The lawyer would have hit himself if the situation wasn’t so dire. He wrenched the ring off his finger, noting the sudden silence of the dark oppressive waves of sound that had come from the spiders just moments before and the return of the soothing pulse on the very edges of his consciousness. Disoriented by the strange distortion of sound he shook himself.

“Melekûn!” the dwarf exclaimed happily at seeing Bilbo, grasping his arms. 

“Help me free the others!” hissed Bilbo, eyes darting around for any sign of the spiders returning. Bifur nodded and grabbed Bilbo’s wrist, leading him along the branch and towards a cluster of cocoons. Bilbo kept strumming, repeating the same riff and the cocoons snapped open. Bifur helped pull away the webs, and soon Bofur, Fili and Balin were free.

“Look out!” shouted Bofur, just as the spiders all swarmed back into the clearing, eyes glowing and hairy legs waving furiously. Everything tipped and spun dizzily and his heart began to pound oppressively in his ears as the spiders neared. This wouldn’t do at all!

“You lot stay here!” Bilbo hissed, worried at how unsteady his friends looked, weakened already from longer exposure to the dark sound. 

“But Bilbo, it’s too danger—“

“Not another word!” Bilbo said, cutting Bofur off. “I’ll handle this.”

He quickly dropped down from the tree branch, just dodging Bofur’s hand trying to stop him and pull him back up. “Hey!” he shouted, getting the attention of the spiders. “Looking for someone?” he asked, hefting his glowing guitar.

“The stiiiiinnng!!” they hissed, eyes glowing as they swarmed into the clearing. “Now we seeee you, little fly….”

“…We will eeaattt you…”

He jammed the ring back on his finger, disappearing right before their eyes and darted over to the left. Sighing with relief as everything sharpened immediately back into focus, as the ring was on his finger he could hear the strange sound again. A deep, throbbing, pulsing ringing radiated out from the spiders, and under it was almost a heartbeat, reverberating through the woods eerily. 

Feeling particularity Tookish, Bilbo plucked up his courage and had another go at the spiders.

_I met an old fat spider_

_Spinning in its tree_

_I said ‘hey old fat spider_

_I bet you can’t catch me!’_

_You’ve grown too fat_

_You lazy lob_

_You’re just an old tomnoddy_

_Hey attercop_

_Hey attercop_

_You can’t catch anybody!_

 

The spiders hissed in rage and pain, Sting glowing wildly as he managed to play along to the tune of his own silly lyrics. The remaining cocoons all snapped open, and the rest of the company all dropped out, landing on the branches or in the case of a few unlucky cases, slipped off and hit the ground. Though free, they were not exactly in fighting shape, disoriented and limbs all rubbery from the spider’s onslaught of dark sound.

“Everyone run!” shouted Bilbo, pulling off his ring to yell at his dwarves. “Stay together! I’ll draw them off!”

“Bilbo!”

“You crazy lawyer, they’ll kill you!”

“No way are we leaving you alone!”

“Just go already!” cried Bilbo, shoving the ring back on his finger and letting his fingers run over his strings, strumming away. Really, it was touching that they cared. But if they knew what was good for them, they would just shut up and do what he said so he could save them and then they’d all be out of trouble.

“Come on you old fat lazy spiders!” he called.

_I met an old fat spider_

_Spinning it's web_

_I said ‘hey old fat spider_

_It’s time that you were dead’_

_I drew my sword_

_To cut it’s silk_

_And kill the old tomnoddy_

_But how can you kill a spider_

_that can’t catch anybody?_

 

“Our hobbit’s gone bad ass, he has,” said Bofur proudly from where the dwarves had huddled in a protective circle, very, very slowly moving away from the main spider nest, unwilling to abandon their hobbit to the mercy of the murderous spiders.

“Come on lads!” shouted Dwalin, hefting Grasper. “Let’s not let Baggins have all the fun!”

“Aye!”

“Du Bekar!”

Dwalin struck up a tune, Thorin yelling along with him, Orcrist glowing as he played base. Fili and Kili struck up their strings and Bombur pounded along with his single surviving drum, the remaining dwarves screaming along and wielding whatever blunt objects they could find as weapons. The more they played the less and less the forest seemed to press on them, and they managed to drive the spiders surrounding them to hiss and writhe and back off, eyes glowing into the darkness as they scuttled away.

“Is that all of them?” asked Ori fearfully, looking around.

“No,” said Fili, gripping his violin. “There was a great swarm of them going after Bilbo.”

“Aye,” added Nori. “They all scurried away over that way.”

“So they’re still out there?” asked Kili, alarmed.

“And chasing the lawyer,” finished Thorin with a growl. “All of you, with me. We do not stop until we find our hobbit, understood?”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

“What are you _doing?!_ ” cried Bilbo, appearing suddenly in front of them, out of breath and covered in cobwebs but very much alive and annoyed. “What part of _run_ don’t you all understand?!”

“Bilbo!”

“No time!” barked Thorin, pulling the hobbit close and clasping him on the shoulder. “Which way Master Baggins?”

“I don’t _know!_ ” Bilbo all but wailed, “Away from here! Let’s go before they come back!”

Needing no further prompting, The Company took off (only somewhat unsteadily), all more than happy to say farewell to the lovely spider nest of nightmares. Dwalin ran alongside Bilbo, clasping a sturdy hand to his back.

“Baggins, your playing was—“

“I know, I know!” Bilbo exclaimed, cutting the bald dwarf off. He was far too frazzled and high on adrenalin to have a proper sensor or care for propriety at this point. “I’m a lousy guitarist.”

“But damn, those lyrics!”

“How long to we have to keep running?” panted Gloin, coming up beside the two.

“Until we find the path? I don’t know,” huffed Bilbo.

“Stop!” called Thorin some time later. Everyone gratefully dropped to the ground, still weakened from the spider’s dark noise. “Does anyone know where the path is?” asked Thorin.

“Those damn spiders threw off my sense of direction,” complained Nori.

“Bilbo, did you see anything when you climbed the tree?” asked Ori.

“Oh yes, but I’ve become rather turned around after everything,” said Bilbo with a sign, slumping down as his adrenaline high began to wane. “I suppose I could climb another tree, but considering what happened last time I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Does anyone have GPS?” asked Balin.

“My connection is all weird,” said Kili frowning at his battered phone. “It keeps going on and off.”

“There’s something scrambling the signal,” said Nori, clicking away at his. “Some kind of dark magic I’d bet.”

“Didn’t Beorn say something about that?” asked Ori.

“Never mind that, how are we going to get out of this cursed forest,” snarled Dwalin angrily.

“You’re not.”

Everyone whirled around at the new voice as a figure dropped from the trees. It was a tall, blonde elf wielding a violin, others joining him, completely surrounding the company.

“What are dwarves doing in our realm?”


	8. The Halls of the Party King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Company_ finds themselves trapped in the elven King's dungeon, and Bilbo alone is their only hope of escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening: 
> 
> http://8tracks.com/kacydoodles/don-t-get-lost-in-mirkwood
> 
> And the song with Kili:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRIbz8Kf1aE

Bilbo was beginning to think that perhaps taking the Oakenshield vs Smaug case had not been his brightest decision. Instead of being in his comfortable and familiar office in Hobbiton looking over various acts and regulations for predictable (if not a bit dry) cases, he was trapped in the halls of an ancient and immortal elf King, invisible, miserable, starving, and completely done with everything to do with the whole confounded case.

Mirkwood forest had been awful. The hobbit’s memories of that place were just one big distorted blur of glowing lights and eyes and hunger, a great oppressive pulse throbbing in his head and drowning everything else out. The spiders only increased his disliking of the place, which was understandable seeing as they _had_ captured and tried to eat his friends. Honestly, it didn’t really get much ruder than that. In Bilbo’s opinion, there had been entirely _too much_ attempted cannibalism—err, one sentient being trying to eat another on this blasted quest as it was.

To top off the lawyer’s rapidly growing list of grievous offenses, as soon as Bilbo had managed to fight back the spiders with his little guitar and free his friends, a whole trope of elves had literally dropped down on them from the trees as easy as you please—and while Bilbo had been initially more than happy to see them, as soon as they had aimed their strings at the bedraggled group, accused them of trespassing and then _handcuffed_ everyone—well. Those elves could go right back up the trees where they came from and bloody well _bugger off_ for all Bilbo cared. 

Fair folk indeed. There certainly wasn’t anything _fair_ about being accosted and arrested on the charge of _nothing._ Hah. So there.

The hobbit found himself the sole member of their party to remain free. Which had less to do with the elves seeing Bilbo as harmless and more to do with the elves _not_ seeing Bilbo at all, the golden ring sliding on his finger almost without thought and plunging the world back into a strange mix of colours. The hobbit had trotted along behind the group in a state of exhausted and indignant invisibility and it was in this fashion that he came into the famed Halls of the Party King; The Realm of King Thranduil.

X|]|[|X

The elves had led the thirteen dwarves (and our invisible lawyer) into the great underground Fortress, over huge bridges made right out of massive tree roots and branches, and whole hallways covered in glowing, luminescent fungus and lights. Fairy lights glowed and spun all around, and while Bilbo had very much enjoyed their soft, magical tones at Rivendell, they had none of the same comforting appeal upon him now. The halls might have created the illusion of being away from the horrible forest, but Mirkwood was still very much present in the way things glowed in bright, fluorescent lights, a persistent beat sounding under everything.

No, these Halls were as much Rivendell Jazz Lounge as Lord Elrond was the Party King. That is to say, not at all. As they were all soon to find out.

 

They were lead across a great twisting walkway made out of a massive living tree root, stretching up and up, the ground wherever it was only a dark chasm beneath them. Bilbo shuddered as he peeked over the side, and quickly kept to the middle, taking care to keep a good couple of paces behind the entourage. The sides were lined with glowing lights, and looking up he could see them stretching up to what looked like a raised platform with a…chair of some sort.

Or a throne. Oh bloody fields, not another throne. 

It was in fact another throne they were all being ushered towards, much to Bilbo’s consternation. However unlike in Goblin Town, there was no haughty being reclining in this one. This one stood bare.

The dwarves were all muttering not too politely amongst each other at being brought here for no discernible reason whatsoever, and the hobbit stuck his hands into his pockets, clicking his tongue. Not much for hospitality these Mirkwood elves by the look of things. Bad form leaving guests waiting on you. Even if they were captive guests.

“Where is the pointy-eared bastard?!” Dwalin growled up front, and Bilbo felt rather inclined to agree with the dwarf (slight against pointy ears aside).

As if a switch had been pulled, the whole cavern suddenly plunged into darkness. Startled, the lawyer looked about warily, hearing the outcry of his friends. The elven guards didn’t seem fazed (from what he could see of them in any case), and a slow, steady beat began to build up from deep below them, getting louder and louder.

A spotlight suddenly shone on the throne, illuminating the silhouette of a person who was now sitting upon it.

And _there_ was the elven King, with his long posh, sparkling jacket, tight pants and knee high leather boots. His hair was draped about his shoulders elegantly, like a silky wave of platinum blond. It was perfect, as were his eyebrows and perfectly manicured nails. 

“Well, well, look who’s come into my realm.”

“Thranduil,” Thorin growled.

“You don’t look to happy to see me,” the elf drawled, long fingers elegantly reaching for a glass of wine an attendant offered him. “I would have thought you of all people would have appreciated seeing a King on his throne. It’s been such a long, long time for you, hasn’t it?”

“No thanks to you, you cowardly swine,” Thorin spat. “You call yourself a King but you’d throw your allies to the wolves for your own gain. How does it feel having to play nice with a dragon?” Thranduil stiffened and uncrossed his legs.

“Do not speak to me of dragon fire! I know of its wrath and ruin!”

“Better to die with honour than to live a coward!”

“But you don’t have honour, now do you, Oakenshield?” the elf smirked. “Plagiarizing music is an awful thing. No one in their right mind would want to ally themselves to a fraud. But that’s right, a madness does run in your family, doesn’t it?”

“You piece of orc shit!!”

“You are so boring, Oakenshield. Take them away!” Thranduil commanded with a wave of his hand. “They’re cluttering up my walkway and completely ruining the aesthetic! Dwarves, they’d be much happier in the cells I should think.”

“Imrid amrâd ursul!*” Thorin yelled, the other dwarves all joining in.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of my latest hit.”

 

Things disintegrated after that. Thorin was dragged off on his own by the guards while the rest of the company was herded away in another direction, with many a shouted insult and curse. Thranduil appeared to be very proud of himself, smugly sipping his wine and Bilbo could just _feel_ his opinion of elves sinking lower and lower. Well, at least this particular elf. Of Lord Elrond and Rivendell Bilbo would only be singing their praises.

Bilbo trailed along invisibly, getting more and more frustrated and exasperated with the whole situation as he followed _The Company_ and their elven guards through hallway after winding hallway. Going down a flight of stairs lead them into a frightfully dark passageway, lit by twisting, glowing lights on the walls and the floor.

It was enough to see by, though it cast everything in odd colours, rather like the time Bilbo had taken some of his younger relations to Hobbiton’s glow-in-the-dark mini-golf track. He kept close to the group and tried to make sense of the many twisting turns branching off (literally in some cases) but quickly gave up. First he’d find out where his dwarves were being taken. Then he’d try to sketch out some sort of a map of this place. Hopefully. Or even better _find_ a map. Assuming they had one at all.

“Oh boy,” called Kili very loudly and obviously. “I sure am worried about our bunny! Has anyone seen it since the forest?”

“Bunny?”

“Oh,” exclaimed Ori, eyes lighting up, “you mean like what Beorn called Bil—“

“Yes, that bunny!” called Balin, stopping Ori before he could continue. “Anyone know what happened to it?”

“I thought he was with us when we got jumped?” said Dori.

“What are you talking about?” a tall, imposing elf guard loomed over the group, glaring suspiciously down at them.

“It’s my pet bunny!” replied Kili. “I think we lost him in the woods.”

“Hey, why’s he _your_ pet bunny,” called Gloin, frowning at the younger dwarf. “He’s _our_ bunny.”

“Yeah, really Kili,” added Nori, nudging the younger dwarf with his elbow.

“You brought a rabbit into Mirkwood?” asked an elf with long red hair, quirking her brow. “You should know by now that was not a very well thought out plan.” 

“Yeah, well, we’re worried about the little guy,” called Bofur.

“I hate to say it, but your pet most likely will not survive out there.”

“Oi, give him more credit than that!”

“Aye, he’s a wee fierce thing.” 

She frowned, but looked thoughtful. “When was the last time you saw him? The forest tends to play tricks on those who are unaware of its ways.” The elves began to usher first Fili into a cell and then Kili into one next to it.

“Just after you lot all came prancing down.”

“Aye, must’ve scurried off.”

“Awful brave our bunny, but horrible fear of elves,” Bofur said shaking his head.

“It’s only natural, really.”

“He’s allergic! Can’t stand the smell!”

“Aye!”

“Neither can I,” said Gloin in a loud mock whisper, sending half of the lot off snickering. The elven guard narrowed her eyes, suspecting they were simply throwing insults instead of giving away any information. 

“Then you’d better hope you get used to it soon, as you’ll not be seeing the outside of these halls until my King allows it,” and with that, she shut Kili’s cell with a click, and stalked off down the hallway, the rest of their companions being pushed along to other cells no doubt.

“Ooooh,” sighed Kili, watching the elf’s retreating form, “She’s good!”

“Kili, if I have to spend the next however long we’re in this cursed place listening to you moon over her, I swear to Mahal I’ll bash my head into the wall,” his brother complained from somewhere over to his right.

“But Fili! She’s so…elfy.”

“Elfy? That’s all you can say? ‘Elfy’?”

“Yeah,” the dwarf sighed, leaning back against the wall of his cell dreamily. “Her hair’s all…swoosh. And she’s sooo cool! Did you see her handcuff me? It was art, pure art. And before when they first jumped us? She took me down herself.”

“I _know_ , you’ve spoken of nothing else in the last hour. Oh Mahal, save my poor battered soul,” moaned Fili, thunking his head against the cell bars. “At least I can’t see the awful faces I’m sure you’re making.”

“I’d send you a picture if they hadn’t nicked my phone. Aww, that had all my pictures on it of the quest. I wanted to help Ori make an epic montage for _The Company_ website.”

There was a stern “ahem,” and suddenly a very visible, very angry Bilbo Baggins appeared in front of the dwarf’s cell, tapping his furred foot.

“Bilbo!” shouted Kili, jumping up to the bars.

“What? Is Bilbo here?!”

“Keep it down!” hissed the hobbit, waving his hands around. “And yes Fili, I’m here, and I’ll be over to see you in a minute. Right now me and your brother need to have a little _chat,_ ” he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Is it a…good kind of chat?” asked Kili cautiously, taking in the hobbit’s crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

“No.”

“…No?“

“A _bunny,_ Kili?! Really?!”

“It was all I could think of!” defended Kili, “Besides, we’ve already established that you look like one, haven’t we Fili?” called the dwarf, hoping his brother would deflect some of the furry away from his sole person.

“Don’t bring me into this!” called Fili, amusement clear in his voice.

“Oh no, not another word out of you!” hissed Bilbo, clasping his hand over the younger dwarf’s mouth through the bars. “If I wasn’t trying so very hard to be as unnoticeable as possible, I’d yell at you, I would.”

“But you caaan’t!” Kili muffled out, still grinning despite it all.

“Oooh, just you wait until we get out of here. I’ll make a huge batch of my very best apple pancakes and give them to everyone—expect for _you_. You’ll just have to watch!”

Kili gasped, eyes widening. “Mr. Boggins, you wouldn’t! That’s too cruel!”

“Oh I just might!” said the hobbit, eyes blazing.

“Nooo,” wailed the dwarf, reaching out for the hobbit through the bars, “I’m sorry! I take it back! You don’t look like a bunny at all—even though you totally do Mr. Boggins—but it’s not just you, it’s a hobbit thing so don’t—!“

“I’m talking to your brother now,” injected the lawyer, making his way over to the blond and leaving the younger dwarf to wallow in self-pity. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking the elder over.

“Fine, we’re all fine, thanks to you,” said Fili, smiling. “A bit dizzy and a sick to the stomach, but eh, could just be the elves.”

Bilbo sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, “Good. That’s good.”

“Bilbo, what are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know,” the hobbit shrugged and plunged his hands in his pockets, sending a quick look around for any guards. “Find everyone, try to figure something out. I’m a lawyer. I can find loopholes. That’s my job after all, I pay attention to detail.”

“Thranduil doesn’t seem the type you can reason with. Besides, elves are the worst, they’ll hold a grudge against a whole bloodline just because of some slight made by a distant ancestor thousand of years ago.”

“Fair point,” Bilbo sighed again, before straightening up and fixing Fili with a stern look. “Alright, you two—yes Kili, you too—focus on getting some rest. I don’t know much about spider music (if you could call that music, awful noise more like) but let’s just treat this like a hangover and sleep it off, alright boys? I don’t want anyone getting sick in here, especially if we have to make a run for it. And Kili, stop moping so much! I’ll let you have the pancakes if we ever get out of here. But no more of this bunny nonsense, or I’ll see you get yours last, when it’s all gone cold.”

X|]|[|X

So far Bilbo had found Fili and Kili. Which was good, seeing as this place seemed to be massive. A bit more creeping about the dark passageways revealed another set of cells. Which thankfully had a dwarf behind them.

“Balin! Psst, Balin!”

“Bilbo lad, is that you?!”

The hobbit breathed out a quick sigh of relief and glanced furtively around before replying, “Yes, yes it is. Are you alright?”

“As well as can be, but what of yourself?”

“I am just about to yell at an elf! Balin, why have we been imprisoned? On what charges?”

“On technicality, it’s due to trespassing.”

“Trespassing? But they kidnapped us! We would have never gone to these halls if it hadn’t been for the guard!”

“We were in the forest and thus in their realm. Technically, the elf is within his rights.”

“So what, the whole forest is the King’s realm? What hogwash,” Bilbo huffed at Balin’s nod, “I didn’t see any signs claiming it as private property, it was clear open without even a road toll indicated.”

“That, lad, that’s where it gets a bit tricky.The _road_ is public, but the rest of the forest is private.” Bilbo blinked.

“So as soon as we left the road we were trespassing?”

“Aye, that’s it officially.”

“But the road is unmaintained! It’s horribly overgrown and covered in moss and whole tree roots—and that’s when you can find the bloody thing in the first place! Why, that whole forest really is the absolute worst kind of hazard imaginable! I hate to think what would have happened if we tried to drive through it at all!”

“That’s the thing about Mirkwood. While you can drive through, most know better and fly. Or drive around. It may be longer, but ultimately it’s worth it.”

“By the Shire, I can’t believe this,” huffed the hobbit, sinking down against the bars of the cell and burying his face in his hands. The old dwarf patted him on the shoulder as best he could through the bars.

 

“Now you can see why Thorin was so keen on avoiding this place. Not to mention he and Thranduil can barely tolerate being in a room with the other. No, I think even if we had managed to keep the van and drive all the way through we still would have been apprehended for something.”

“But without a trial, or even a written charge?” asked Bilbo, desperate. Balin shook his head sadly, “Thranduil is allowed to keep trespassers in his cells for a time before they are tried. However how long this exactly is, is rarely specified and can be pushed back further and further should ‘something come up’. As elves, things can take quite a while as they live so long. Besides, Thranduil is a _King_. All the paperwork and bureaucracy it would involve is enormous.”

“A King? I thought that was just a nickname. Do you mean to say he actually rules as well?”

“Well, yes, in a way. Or rather according to his fans,” at Bilbo’s perplexed expression he continued. “Not in the way you’re thinking, lad. He’s certainly not monarchy! The Shire doesn’t have Kings, does it?”

“No, no, we have elected officials. Well, at least in Hobbiton. There’s the Thain of Tookland, but that’s more a formality than anything and the Master of Buckland, but they just break up feuds and hold big parties and all that.”

“Thranduil has been made a King on account of his musical prowess. It’s a title that is won and upheld by the people and the music industries.”

“Ah.”

“Certainly not monarchy, though the position does hold power. Music and sound is nothing to be scoffed at, not with the things it can do when one has a mind to it. Smaug for example has declared himself King, and King of the Lonely Mountain at that. In defeating Thror and his line, he not only took the title of King, but had the authority to kick everyone out of the mountain and completely control the music industry.”

“Hold on, does that mean Thorin is a King?”

“ _Was_ a King, until Smaug came. And in this case it wasn’t just taking the title or even monopolizing the industry, but he tarnished the name of not just Thror but his whole family. Of course,” the old dwarf continued, puffing up a little, “To some of us Thorin has always been a King. And always _will_ be, no matter what they say. One we would follow to the end, if that was what was asked.”

“Of course,” Bilbo quickly agreed, “No, I, I think I understand,” he scratched his nose absentmindedly as he digested the information. “No wonder Thorin is so set on defeating Smaug.” Balin hummed in agreement.

“Right now, it wouldn’t matter if we did defeat the worm. No one would accept a King who had stolen the music of another.”

“They accepted Smaug,” Bilbo said mulishly, tucking his legs up against his body from where he sat on the floor against the cell. “If I can prove he framed Thorin, shouldn’t it be enough?”

“Well,” chucked Balin, “Technically it should be, but you forget that Smaug is a shape shifter. A _dragon_. Even if he was proven guilty he’s exceptionally powerful. He could take us all down, in his dragon form.”

“Right,” Bilbo gulped. “Furnace with wings and all that.”

“Aye. To stand any chance against defeating the worm, we’d need to unite our forces, call back the old alliances and those who used to prosper under Erebor. Which we can only hope to do if people are willing to stand with us.”

“What if no one likes the chances of standing against a dragon?”

“Then, lad, we keep doing what we dwarves have always done. Dig our heels in and face it head on. Every being on Middle Earth has a weak spot, and Smaug is no different. We’ll just have to jam like we’ve never jammed before.”

X|]|[|X

As no immediate way of springing his friends from their cells came to him, (and as he had yet to locate all thirteen of his companions) Bilbo had no choice but to remain an invisible and unhappy guest in the great glowing halls of the elf King. It certainly wasn’t easy, being an unseen hobbit in a place full of elves, yet as time ticked by the lawyer found himself settling into an exhausted sort of routine despite himself.

Being an uninvited and invisible made finding even the most basic of requirements very difficult to attain. Finding a quiet corner to get some sleep was easier said than done, especially as the cold floor wasn’t the most compelling mattress or pillow. Having the ring did help, but an increasing feeling of paranoia and anxiety seemed to settle over him making it most difficult indeed to get some rest.

Food was another matter. Thankfully there seemed to be a constant buffet laid out in Thranduil’s Halls. The only catch was that it happened to be located right at the back of the central dance floor. Meaning to get any of it, Bilbo first had to successfully navigate around a huge, swarming mass of raving elves to get to it. It was pitch black in there, save for the onslaught of flashing strobe lights and dry mist, and whatever crazy lightshow the Party King had decided on for that particular night. Or day. It honestly was a little hard to tell the passage of time in these halls, much like it had been in the forest, what with everything being so very dark and florescent all the time. 

The elves themselves were decked out in the most striking outfits, wearing clothes and accessories that actually glowed. Bilbo had nearly shrieked in fright when he caught sight of a few wearing glowing body paint all around their eyes and lips and swirled into intricate patterns and shapes all over their bodies. It was nearly hypnotic to watch them dance, a mass of strangely detached glowing, vaguely humanoid shapes in the darkness, all moving together, individual sounds and voices drowned out under the loud beat from the DJ.

And though he had found all of his dwarves by the end of the first week, there was one very noticeable exception. Thorin was nowhere to be found. Bilbo guessed (correctly) that the leader of their Company was being kept somewhere more secure than the rest of their group. 

The hobbit had found the twelve cells to be located on the same floor, thankfully all within a few hallways of each other in what seemed to be a designated dungeon area (or something of the like). Even better, each dwarf had been locked up within a few feet of another dwarf, so that at least everyone had someone they could talk to, if not necessarily see. 

Save for Thorin, who was Valar only knew where. Bilbo was determined to find out, but so far had very little luck in that endeavor. All he had managed to do was get horribly disoriented in the labyrinth-like halls, glowing, flashing lights that would occasionally swirl and twist without warning being the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black Kingdom. It was beyond frustrating.

“I was talking about pancakes with the boys earlier, and now I can’t get food out of my mind,” the lawyer complained quietly to Bombur having settled against the bars for some quiet conversation. He had shown himself briefly before slipping the ring back on and settling in front of the drummer’s cell. Just because he was standing outside of the security camera’s line of sight didn’t mean he should take any chances. Besides, it just felt safer with the ring on. Despite the strange twist it did to his senses it was…nice. Very nice. Like hearing your favorite tune playing faintly in the back of your mind. Though he had noticed terrible headaches after the first whole day or so after wearing it straight. But that could be from anything.

“I know what you mean,” rumbled the dwarf, patting his belly sadly. “There’s not much to do stuck in this cell. I’ve been going through every recipe I know, trying to figure out what I’d like to eat first when we get out.”

“Something warm I think,” said Bilbo. “Filling, maybe a really rich, creamy soup with drop-dumplings, and some savory rolls stuffed with meat. Or a nice spicy chili.”

“Glazed turkey with stuffing, smothered in gravy and cranberry sauce.”

“Ohh, gravy. I could go for the nice grilled salmon I fried up for myself the night you lot arrived in Bag End, and you squeeze lemon on top just before you eat it. I never even got a chance to eat the basted thing, Dwalin barged right in and ate it in front of me!”

 

“I’ve been dreaming of svetskinadles.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a pastry. You take a plum and pit it, then wrap it up in a soft sugary dough and bake the whole thing.”

Bilbo moaned, “That sounds wonderful. Have you ever had stuffed and baked apples? With brown sugar and cinnamon and little bits of pecans?”

“I _have_ had that. How about honey mustard chicken with roasted potatoes and rosemary?”

“Ohhh, I make this spicy lasagna sometimes, with beans and ground beef. The trick is to alternate every other layer with one of just cheese, and you use smoked mozzarella if you can get it. And with a nice spicy tomato sauce and basil, and then you pile on all the remaining cheese and sauce on the top layer so it all drips down when you bake it in the oven—“

 

“Alright, that’s it!” came Nori’s voice from down the hall. “I can’t take anymore! You two stop talking about bloody food!” 

“Sorry Nori!” Bilbo called softly, trying not to alert any guards that might be standing around nearby.

“Don’t worry about the elves,” Nori replied, guessing Bilbo’s thoughts. “These security cameras aren’t even turned on.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I can tell. I know this model. Come ‘ere, I’ll show you.” Bilbo shared a last commiserating look with Bombur before making his way to the dwarf down the hall. He settled in front of Nori’s cell and peered up at the security camera carefully as he pointed to it. “See, there should be a green light coming from just under that part, and you see how it’s red? That means it’s connected to the power but not entered into the system. And that one over there? No light at all.”

 

“…I don’t believe this.”

“Intimidation tactics, my good lawyer,” Nori said wisely, tapping a finger to his nose. “The wifi in here isn’t secure at all either.”

“You’ve kept your phone!” Nori fixed him with a glance.

“Please, I am a professional,” he puffed up proudly. “I’m not about to let any pointy-eared fairy take my things. Especially not my baby here.”

“Hang on, if you connect to the wifi, doesn’t that mean that they can see into your phone? Or track it…somehow?” Bilbo trailed off uncertainly. He knew a _bit_ about how the internet worked (thanks to his nephew and some of the younger interns at work) but he would in no way say he was qualified about something like this. Nori looked aghast.

“Oh Mahal, no. No self-respecting Khazad phone would ever be so clumsy. Actually, give me your phone for a sec, let me just make sure none of those leaf-eaters can get anything from it. Wouldn’t do if they couldn’t see you, but caught your signal.” The lawyer quickly fished out his phone and handed it to the dwarf, watching in amazement as he quickly produced what looked like a whole tool kit of fine screwdrivers and computer chips from his jacket. Nori glanced up and grinned roguishly at the lawyer, fingers flying.

“I’m not a techie for nothing, there’s no need for that face. I’m afraid it might offend your lawful sensibilities, but then again, you are wandering around an elvish prison consorting with prisoners and the like. Come back in an hour or so and I’ll have it all nice and fixed up for you, eh?”

“Thank you very much, Nori.”

“Ach, I’m bored. Actually, could you see if anyone else has their phones? Bofur and I’ve been playing _Gold Mine™_ for the last hour, it’d be great if anyone else could join in.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.” Nori caught his arm just as he was about to leave.

“And Bilbo, make sure you take some time for yourself. Find somewhere quiet you can stay for a couple of hours unseen. Can’t have you falling asleep with all these elves around. You need to stay sharp, and stay safe as much as you can, hear me lad?”

“Yes I, thank you. I’ll try.”

X|]|[|X

If the forest of Mirkwood had seemed oppressive, the Halls of its King were almost doubly so. Not to say that the same sense of wrongness or terrifying mind-alterations applied to the halls, but merely that the music and dancing just did. Not. Stop.

At first, Bilbo had assumed that the partying elves he had passed in his invisible rush through the place had been perhaps due to Thranduil’s capture of a much hated enemy. But then the same celebratory air seemed to be going around the next night. And the next. Three weeks in and Bilbo had given up hope on anything quieting down.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The alleged _Feast of Starlight_ would start next week, and it would be a whole seven days and nights of mass concerts and music and raving, all at the command and lead of their King. If the rumors were anything to go by. Or the huge TV screens placed all through the Halls announcing the upcoming event.

Bilbo wasn’t overly fond of electro-dance music or trance. He didn’t _dislike_ it, but really, this was enough to drive anyone to utter distraction. The lightshows were really, really not helping in that regard either. 

All throughout the Halls were TV screens and speakers, all showing footage of Thranduil dancing away and blaring out his music. Thankfully, it wasn’t hurtful music, just loud and everywhere with the same pounding beat always in the background and bright flashing and/or glowing lights. But that rather was the point of a rave, wasn’t it? And it looked like the _Feast of Starlight_ was shaping up to be the rave of the year.

During the daytime things seemed to slow down at bit. A bit, mind, not a whole lot. The Halls still had music echoing up and down them, elves still could be found frolicking around or breaking out in spontaneous dance, but it was certainly calmer in the day.

At night, they all seemed to come alive like nocturnal party creatures. And how the Halls glowed at night! It was a bit like still being out in the forest itself, the constant beat in the back of his head (loud enough you could feel it all through your body in some places), glowing colours lighting your way in the dark, and no spiders but hundreds of smashed elves to trip over and into, all clustered together and partying wildly, sometimes all jumping up and down and other times forming smaller groups to do more intimate dancing.

And the colours! There was nothing like it. If the forest had glowed and pulsed in the dark in bright florescent colours, it was nothing compared to what happened inside. The whole place was lit up with twinkling fairy lights and glowing orbs, laser light displays dancing across the floors and walls and ceilings. There were only a few areas that were open to the air, so for the most part all you could see were the disembodied lights floating around everywhere. It was mesmerizing and dizzying and absolutely exhausting to put up with for week after week.

 

Once Bilbo had even been caught by an elf who had suddenly flung his arms out as Bilbo happened to be squeezing past, and the man had hugged and swung the poor hobbit around and around before setting him back down, never mind how Bilbo was invisible the whole time. By now Bilbo had tripped over an unconscious elf on the floor four times, saved two from toppling off of platforms while dancing, and even patted an elf on the back in sympathy as they vomited into the bathroom sink. He had gone entirely unnoticed.

Perhaps the most mortifying experience so far in this jumbled nightmare of a party was when Bilbo had accidentally found himself in the private quarters of the Party King himself. 

It had been an accident! The hobbit was trying his utmost to find a way of escaping this oppressive rave Hall and locating the still missing Thorin, so naturally he would be searching everywhere. He hadn’t planned on walking into a spacious lounge room with a hot tub. A very occupied hot tub, with an elven King currently lounging regally in it, a glass of wine held daintily in one hand, the other arm gracefully draped over the edge of the tub from where it was sunken into the smooth floor of the room. 

And he was wearing shutter shades. His ridiculous glowing crown, and matching glowing shutter shades. _Nothing_ else. Not that Bilbo had looked! Not purposefully! Only that what he had seen when he had first walked in was perhaps forever burned into the back of his eyes and so Bilbo had done what any self-respecting Baggins would have done—squeezed his eyes shut and made to scramble right back out the way he had came as quietly as he could when—

“I know you’re there.” 

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin as the elven King pushed his long, platinum blond, perfect hair, lazily over his shoulder. “Why do you linger in the shadows?”

 

“Ada,” Bilbo’s heart nearly gave out as another elf walked into the room, and he clutched at his chest ruefully, bemoaning the day he had ever agreed to take this awful case in the first place. “You called for me?” 

“Yes, my son. Won’t you join me?” 

“I cannot, I have work to do,” replied the elf curtly. This was Legolas, if Bilbo wasn’t mistaken. The son of the Party King. The very un-amused and perpetually put-out son of the Party King, that is. Bilbo privately thought that he must have been going through his rebellious tween years, whatever age that was for an elf.

“I have miiixers…” Thranduil effortlessly lifted a tray that had been floating on the surface of the water, four different glasses balanced upon it all of different alarmingly glowing beverages. Legolas sighed dramatically and crossed his arms.

“Don’t you have a kingdom to run?” The elder elf gave a gasp and raised a hand to heart, head thrown back dramatically.

“Oh son, you wound me. So much you have yet to learn of ruling. It’s not all sitting on a throne and looking fabulous. Though, that is a very important part of it,” he smirked, regarding his son as he tipped up his shades. “One _does_ have to throw rave parties and test mixers and the Dorwinian wine imports. It is my lot to bear, and someday it will be yours!”

“Ada, you’ll live forever.”

“Not necessarily,” the King twirled the platter of drinks effortlessly with one hand. “I could very well perish the next time I want to dance upon the railings of the balconies. I could slip quite easily, and you know how very passionate I am when dancing.”

“Then don’t dance up there!”

“We all court with death everyday, my little green leaf, it is a simple fact of life.”

“I’m going now.”

“Remember, the most important day of the festival is the very last day! Make sure you wear something appropriate. And I mean _appropriate!_ Have you even worn those platform boots I got you? The ones that light up? Or your glow crown? And what about the shutter shades?!”

And all the while poor Mr. Baggins had been stuck there, torn between mortified and exasperated and a bit hysterical. Clearly he had been hearing the wrong tales about elves all these years. Graceful and elegant beings his foot! Though between Elrond’s merry tree-jumping folk and the barely controlled chaos that was turning out to be Thranduil’s Halls, he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Bilbo could only wonder what the legendary realm of Lady Galadriel was like, and if it too was filled with drunken elves or ridiculous light displays.

Legolas had eventually stormed off, the door to his room slamming shut and the sounds of a violin coming from behind it. Bilbo had made sure to stay clear of what he knew to be the private wing after that.

X|]|[|X

It was purely by accident that Bilbo stumbled upon the secret hallway. Trudging wearily along a winding passageway one day after foraging for food at the buffet table, the hobbit was trailing his hand along the wall. The contact with the smooth side of the wall was comforting, in that in so many of these passageways all you could see where the lights stretching out in the perpetual darkness. It was jarring and disconcerting, and Bilbo was tired and his eyes were hurting from the strain. So he may have been leaning a bit of his weight against the wall while he was walking.

The _Feast of Starlight_ was starting in just four days, and he knew if they were to have any chance of escaping it had to be then, but the how was still something of a mystery, and there was certainly no way they’d be leaving their missing dwarf King behind, which was why Bilbo was still trudging along into the wee hours of the night, half asleep on his feet, and hoping vainly that maybe this time he’d just happen upon wherever it was that Thranduil had decided to put an angry exiled dwarf-king in this miserable—

The hand he had been leaning his weight against suddenly met nothing, and he barely had time to gasp before he toppled over in an ungainly sprawl on the floor. Dazed, he gave himself a slight shake and slowly got to his feet, rubbing ruefully at his probably bruised side. 

He was in a passageway. A _new_ passageway. Without any lights marking it as one. Squinting he could just make out some faint lights further down. He frowned and clicked his tongue.

Stealing himself, he started walking, keeping a hand against the wall to steady himself. A pair of slowly throbbing red lights loomed ahead where the path forked, going off left and right. 

“Right,” he said quietly to himself, and trotted off down the left.

About fifteen minutes and a couple of dead ends later, he found himself in front of a solitary cell, lit only by two gloomy lights on the wall across.

“Thorin!”

For it was Thorin. Sitting alone in this solitary cell, staring blankly at the floor. His head turned sharply at the hobbit’s voice, eyes lighting up.

“…Master Baggins?”

“Thorin!” The hobbit quickly shoved his ring into his pocket, running up to the bars. “Oh finally! I’ve been looking for you for weeks now! Are you alright?”

“How…” began the dwarf, staring at the hobbit in wonder. The dwarf looked worse for wear, though he visibly rallied at seeing Bilbo. “Have the elves let you free? How is it you are not in one of these wretched cells as well?”

“Oh, well, I’ve gotten rather good at going undetected, don’t you know? They never saw me in the first place, so I followed you lot and have been trying to find us all a way out.”

“The others? Are they alright? Has that cursed elf done anything to them!?”

“No! No, no, they’re all fine. Not too happy about being cooped up, but fine, really. It’s you we’ve all been worried about! I’ve been able to pass messages to everyone but no one knew what had happened to you. Oh! That reminds me—here,” Bilbo dug into his pocket and drew out Thoin’s cell phone, passing it over to the dwarf. “I’ve managed to nick most of them back, thankfully the elves are too busy getting ready for the celebration to really notice things like that—and Nori’s already figured out the wifi so free to contact the rest of the company.”

“You are a marvel, Baggins!”

“Oh, well, well posh, it was the least I could do.”

“And now you must tell me of yourself, and how you have been fairing in this wretched place,” the dwarf said, fixing him with a firm look.

“I wouldn’t want to bore you—“

“Please. It’s been a very long time since I’ve last heard a friendly voice. ”

“Oh I see,” Bilbo arched an eyebrow. “You’re desperate enough to want to listen to even _me_ talking.”

“No! That…is not what I meant.” 

Bilbo took pity on the dwarf. He may have still been a bit bitter over Thorin’s poor treatment of his person, but he had been making a visible effort after Azog and all. And he really did look entirely too dejected sitting by himself in this lone cell. “It’s alright, I was just teasing. Where should I begin?”

“First you can tell me what magic makes you invisible. It has been a great asset to us already with how you handled the spiders, but I would know if it strains you to use it.”

And so Bilbo told him somewhat reluctantly about his ring, and how he had been creeping around, and when Thorin hung on his every word eagerly it dawned on the hobbit how very lonely he must have been these past weeks. Out of all the dwarves Thorin alone had been completely unaware of there being any hope of escape. Bilbo could only imagine how awful it must have been for him, being kept from his quest by his old enemy, unknowing of the fate of any of his friends and family. 

So he did his best to try and cheer the dwarf up, even going so far as to describe some of the ridiculous antics of the Party King and his many raves. It certainly seemed to work, especially when Bilbo told him about how he had accidentally stumbled upon Thranduil in his work-out room, decked out in florescent leg-warmers and a head band, and how he had been trying to get his son to unsuccessfully join him.

“They don’t really seem to get along very much,” Bilbo reflected. “I think Legolas must be gong through his rebellious stage. Of course, with a father like Thranduil, he’s doing that by angrily playing his violin and being ‘too serious’. He wears waistcoats as well, you know—which I personally can’t fault,” Bilbo indeed owned and wore many finely made waistcoats of all sorts of colours and designs, “but you can imagine how the elf King hates it.”

Thorin gave a pleased grunt, “Good. I could never approve of an elf, but anything that bothers my enemy is more than welcome.” Bilbo halfheartedly swatted the dwarf through the bars.

“You dwarves certainly are a vengeful folk.”

“Have you heard our song _Never Forgive and Never Forget_ yet? Written with Thranduil in mind. It’s a classic.”

“Oh I believe that,” Bilbo snorted. They had been talking for so long that his legs had began to go numb from sitting on the hard cold floor. “I should get going.” As the hobbit got to his feet Thorin stood as well, giving him a hard look.

“Would you tell my nephews that I’m proud of them? And to hold out for a bit longer?” Bilbo smiled.

“You can text them yourself, now. But of course I will! Everyone will be so glad to hear you are alright.”

“Good. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but have you any plan of escape, Master Lawyer?”

“Well…I’m not too sure of the _how_ but I’ve about figured out the when. At the end of next week there’s set to be a grand final of this huge rave festival Thranduil is planning. That is when we will make our move. No one will want to miss an event like that, especially not the guards. I doubt they’ll be paying much attention to us.”

“Good. I have every confidence that you’ll figure something out, Master Baggins.”

“That makes one of us,” Bilbo muttered.

Though a plan did begin to fit itself together in his mind. He had already stumbled upon the security office. There was a very little chance of successfully stealing back all of their instruments and equipment, it all being very large and heavy and Bilbo being rather the opposite. But what he _had_ discovered was the Guard Rota. And it was entirely too easy to make a few schedule changes for the final night of the festival. 

The final part of his plan wouldn’t be discovered until a few days before the escape when Bilbo found himself in a wine cellar full of barrels.

X|]|[|X

“Bilbo! Help! You have to help me, Mr. Baggins!”

“What’s wrong!?” the hobbit had stopped by Fili and Kili’s cells to check on them, and now he rushed over to Fili, looking the young dwarf over for any sign of distress or injury.

“It’s Kili! He won’t stop going on and on about that bloody elf.” Bilbo breathed a quick sigh of relief.

“The guard?” Fili nodded and winced as Kili’s voice drifted over to them from his cell.

“She’s so preeeeetty. She walks in starlight in another woooorld”

“You see what I mean?!” hissed Fili desperately. “At first I thought it was just the spider poison, and then maybe he’d been hit on the head, but I swear it’s like he really did eat a whole bunch of those trippy mushrooms—he just won’t stop!”

“Taurieeeeel…She is the stars. A whole sky of them. Lighting up the night like a galaaaaxyyyyy…”

Bilbo sighed, “I can see what you mean. And how does Tauriel feel about this?”

“She’s just as baaad,” Fili moaned into his hands. “She keeps hanging around and talking with him—I’m going crazy, Bilbo!”

“There, there,” comforted Bilbo, giving the distraught dwarf a pat. “It’s just a few more days until the Feast of Starlight. I’ll figure something out. If we’re ever going to get out of here, it will be next week for sure.”

“I really, really hope you’re right.” With a quick pat on the dwarf’s hand, Bilbo made his way over to the younger brother’s cell, taking in his dreamy expression with a sigh.

“Boggins! I need your advise!”

“Advise?” 

About, you know…” began the dwarf, shuffling nervously for a moment. “ _Romance_.”

“Now what would I know about that?” asked Bilbo wryly, running a hand through his increasingly messy and oily curls. Bathing was proving to be a bit difficult, having to sneak into the public bathrooms and dunk his head under the sink, using hand soap and trying to avoid whatever elves may have been in there throwing up in the toilets or passed out on the counter, a few touching up their makeup. Or engaging in _other activities_ which really was far too much for his Baggins sensibilities to deal with, _thankyou_. Walking around with wet hair wasn’t fun at all. A few times in desperation he had gone into one of the public showers, wearing his ring and trying to wash his clothes and himself at the same time. Those had been very cold and miserable nights for all that he did feel perhaps a bit cleaner. 

“I am something of a confirmed bachelor in Hobbiton, you know. I can imagine a fine young dwarf such as yourself wouldn’t need any advise from a middle aged hobbit.”

“But you’re old and stuff, you _know_ things!” Bilbo quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at the dwarf.

“Telling someone they’re old typically isn’t the best way to convince them to help you, Kili. Oh, please tell me you didn’t call her old!? That could not have gone over well at all.”

“See what I mean! You know stuff!

“Would this have anything to do with a certain elf captain and DJ?”

“Her name’s Tauriel,” the dwarf sighed dreamily. “But I don’t know if she likes me or not. I think she does. But what if she doesn’t!? What do I do?!”

“Then she doesn’t, and that’s rather that,” he answered primly. “You can’t force someone to like you. And you certainly can’t rush feelings. Respect is utmost,” he sighed at the dwarf’s crestfallen expression. “But that doesn’t mean nothing will come out of it. Has she said anything to you?”

“Sometimes, but mostly she’ll just stand around my cell and shoot me weird looks. Honestly, I’ve seen her walk past here at least five times between lunch and dinner. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

The hobbit hummed noncommittally for a moment, willing away the pounding headache that had been lurking about his temple for the last couple of days and wishing very much that he was back in the Shire, sitting on his little bench outside of Bag End, soaking up the sun with his toes in the grass. “It sounds promising. Do you really like her?” 

“She…she has stars in her hair…”

“You do realize your uncle may disown you?”

“Ahh, sweet forbidden romance…”

“Kili, you barely know her.”

“Exactly! We could spend more time together and really get to know each other.”

“And that’s fine,” said Bilbo, “but make sure you do that before you do something rash. You may find you don’t get along after all.”

“Rash? Why Mister Boggins, you wound me!”

“You’re so impulsive, Kili, just deal with it,” came Fili’s voice off from the other cell.

“You’re no fun!” Kili called back.

“Kili, listen,” interrupted Bilbo, gaining the dwarf’s attention. “Just be careful. Get to know her better, sure. But remember you are a prisoner of her King and she could be using you to get information,” he held up a hand to cut off what he was sure to be an impassioned rant, “Personally I don’t think so, but do keep that in mind. Just as _you_ may get _her_ in trouble if Thranduil finds out you’ve been too friendly. And please, try to keep it down just a little? I’m afraid your brother feels a bit tortured and would appreciate a little bit of quiet time.”

X|]|[|X

Hidden behind a stack of wine barrels, Bilbo was curled up as small as he could, knees tucked close to his chest and head resting on his folded arms. The soft light of his phone lit up the little corner, the digital numbers blinking a miserable 4:27AM at him. He scrubbed a hand over his haggard face and glared blearily at a sudden surge of noise rising above the oppressive beat of Thranduil’s trance music blaring out all throughout the halls.

Thankfully this little hallway was clear of any speakers, or the security cameras. Not that he was in any danger of being seen. 

It was hardly comfortable, but he desperately needed to sleep else he’d list off into an elf and get himself caught. Or trampled, which was probably more likely considering the state of the dance hall. 

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. They really were aching these days. The flashing lights and pure spectacle of it all was all well and fine when one was in the mood for such things. But Bilbo was tired and his head was sore and his poor abused tummy was grumbling and all he wanted was to be somewhere quiet and safe, without any raving elves or imposing walkways with no railings. His broken glasses certainly didn’t help matters, forcing him to squint awkwardly at anything he wished to see in detail or read, doubly difficult in the truly sporadic lighting of these blasted halls.

There was also the matter of his ring. It was of course infinitely useful. And he certainly wouldn’t feel safe at all should he take the thing off. Yet he was beginning to suspect that it was not helping matters in terms of his health. Some things faded under its influence, others grew, and some things downright _glowed_. There was a strange creeping voice he had begun to notice in the back of his mind lately, a bit like the spiders muttering, a slow, threatening undercurrent to all the noise and spectacle of the rave. The little hobbit could only guess where it was coming from, conjuring up all kinds of horrible visions of lone spiders lurking in the shadowed depths of the cavernous halls, waiting for unwary passerby’s to stray too close and snatch them up. Who knew what was down there in the cavernous depths beneath the walkways or far up in the darkened corners of the ceiling.

It simply did not do to think on, Bilbo decided with a shiver, shifting again and sliding his body further down into the hard corner. Thoughts like that would never help him get to sleep. It certainly wouldn’t do anything for the sickly feel to his stomach, nor the heavy sense of dread and despair that was hanging over him. Not to mention the awful headache. It was almost tempting to hand himself over to the elves and simply curl up in a nice cell and sleep for the next week. Even though he was sure that he would no doubt be installed with his own personal screen of the Party King broadcasting his raving and concerts all day and night for company.

His phone vibrated softly informing him that Dwalin had just beaten his best score at _Gold Mine™_ , Nori having installed the game on his phone when he ‘updated’ it. Sighing, he turned off the mobile and stuffed it in his pocket, ever wary of his slowly depleting battery and not too keen on having to hang around an electrical socket while he tried to re-charge it. Again.

Curling up into a ball of miserable hobbit lawyer, he shut his eyes, willing away the vibrant flashes of light behind his eyelids and wishing he was tucked away in his own little bed, far far away in the sleepy little Shire.

X|]|[|X

“Bofur!”

“Oi! Bilbo?”

“Here.”

“Ah there’s the hobbit! How’s me crisis buddy doin’?”

Bilbo groaned, something he’d been doing with an alarming frequency in recent days and sat down, slumping against the cell bars. Bofur shuffled over and patted him on the shoulder, “Ach, that bad, eh?”

“Oh no, everything’s just _fine_.”

“Why don’t you tell your old friend Bofur about it? You look like you could use a drink.” Bofur was a normally cheerful dwarf, and just a plain friendly sort in general, and his mood had only been boosted after Bilbo had passed around the wifi password to those who had kept their phones. The hobbit had begun to steal the ones that had been taken back as well, something he had only dared to do recently with the Feast of Starlight and the general state of distracted chaos going around.

“I can’t believe that they can keep up this level of energy for so bloody long,” Bilbo said moodily, glaring at the TV screen installed across from the cell. These had been placed here just two days ago at the start of the _Feast of Starlight_. Thranduil couldn’t possibly allow even prisoners to be deprived of the glory of watching him perform, and so each dwarf had a screen of their very own that broadcasted either the King or whoever was up and DJ-ing at the time, _all the time_. Even Thorin had his own, deep down in the darkest, dingiest dungeons, and as you could probably imagine, he had not been amused at _all_.

Kili was probably the only one who was happy with the development, as Tauriel was one of Thranduil’s top DJs, and often would be featured on the screen.

“Plain unnatural, elves are,” agreed Bofur. “Though dwarves can out party their kind any day!”

“Yes, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget what you lot did to my poor Bag End,” the dwarf just grinned and tapped his nose.

“Ah, we were bein’ nice then. Rivendell was a bit more aggressive. But when we reclaim Erebor and defeat the shifter, then we’ll show you a _real_ dwarf party! The very mountain will _shake_ with music, it will!”

Bilbo chuckled tiredly at his friend’s enthusiasm. “I’m sure it will be something else. But I’m quite done with partying all together. You big folk are always so loud and unapologetic in everything. What I wouldn’t give to be back in the Shire where it’s quiet and predictable just sleep for a few days.”

“Seems to me,” Bofur began, poking the hobbit in the shoulder, “I remember a certain hobbit telling me about all the ruckus he used to get up to in Tookland, and the week long parties and pub crawling, not to mention the annual harvest festivals.”

“Quiet you.”

“Y’know, where hobbits have huge drinking competitions with beer and moonshine, and regularly dance on tables all night long. Or was that just one hobbit in particular?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“We’ll get out of here, Bilbo. You wait and see.”

“Easy for you to say,” the hobbit grumbled sullenly, tucking his legs up.

“Ach, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’ve got a date, right? Last day of the festival. Something will come up. Or we’ll just wing it. We dwarves are experts at that! Who needs a plan when you’ve got your stout companions and a band?”

“Maybe the elves will be so smashed they’ll just open the cells and let us all go free,” Bilbo grumbled mulishly.

“That’s the spirit! Wait, you were being sarcastic. Ach, no sulkin’ now, it’ll be alright. If we can just get Nori out, he’ll probably think of somethin’. And even if that doesn’t work there’s always Gandalf.”

“He’s not answering my texts. I know the connection is pretty bad in here, but some of them got through. He’s probably off somewhere doing Cryptic Wizard Business, no doubt.”

“Maybe you could file a lawsuit against him?”

“I’m rather tempted to file one against Thranduil, or whoever is in charge of health and safety around here. I mean _Mirkwood Forest_ , really! The road is still open, but it’s barely passable. Then we get arrested for trespassing when there’s no signage anywhere indicating private property. And the giant spiders!”

“I’m with you on that one.”

“Do you know my glasses broke? Thankfully I’m far-sighted not near-sighted or we’d really be in trouble with all these Valar-awful spinning lights everywhere. But it would be nice to see things up close again without leaning around and squinting all the time.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound coming from the broadcasting of Thranduil, now dancing on a raised platform, the lighting making it all appear to be on fire. Bilbo heaved a sigh, “I should be going. Thank you for listening to a silly hobbit babbling on.”

“Oh no you don’t! You need some rest.” The hobbit turned to glare at the dwarf.

“I’ll just go do that, shall I? Go have a nice sleep in my bed—oh that’s right, I don’t have one! Unlike you lot I don’t have the luxury of a nice little cell and a bed, not to mention regular meals!” He spat with an unusual amount of vehemence. The hobbit winced and rubbed at his eyes wearily, deflating. “I’m sorry, Bofur. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” The dwarf nudged him with his shoulder.

“Bifur’s the same, you know. Sweetest temperament you’d ever seen until he gets a sugar drop. Suddenly he’s all moody and sulky until he gets somethin’ to eat, then he’ll perk right up again, happy as anythin’. High metabolism, see?”

“Did you just call me sulky? I am not sulky! I detest that!”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ohh don’t you give me that! _Mmhmm_ yourself!” Bofur hid a smile behind his hand. “Even if I was sulky I’d have every right to be!” Bilbo continued, sulking indignantly. “Stuck running around in this dreadful place, full of immature drunken elves and that blasted music, trying to spring a bunch of ungrateful dwarves from prison—all without any proper meals or comfort—this most certainly was _not_ in my contract. I am a lawyer and a Baggins, thank _you_ , and this is a clear violation of… my…is, is that a sandwich?”

The dwarf had casually pulled out a plastic wrapped sandwich and held it up to the bars, waving it back and forth slowly in front of the hobbit. “It’s got your name on it. Well, not really, but it’s for _a_ hobbit all the same,” Bofur couldn’t help but grin at the way Bilbo’s eyes were completely fixed on the thing, following it as he moved it slowly. “And so far you’re the only hobbit I’ve seen around here—but you’d better take it right quick in case another one shows up!”

No one needed to tell him twice. In fact Bofur didn’t think he had ever seen anyone eat anything so quickly before in his life. And with Bombur for a brother that was really saying something. At least he’d had the good sense to take off the wrapper before devouring it. “Thank you,” Bilbo said quietly once he was done shamelessly inhaling the sandwich. “You are the very best crisis buddy a hobbit could ever ask for,” 

“Ach, least I could do. I know you said you’ve been grabbing a bite from the buffet easy enough, but I figure they’d be full of elves.”

“Drunk, wasted, raved out, partying elves,” Bilbo corrected, holding up a finger to accentuate his point. “Do you know one actually bumped right into me and hugged me? I was invisible! I don’t understand what they thought they were hugging!”

“Well, you are pretty cuddly, mister hobbit, I don’t know if I could blame them.”

“As any proper hobbit should be,” Bilbo said sternly before he patted his tummy and frowned down at it sadly. “Though I don’t suppose at this rate I’ll be very proper at all. Running around in the wild, barely getting two meals a day. Not proper at all,” he lamented sadly.

“I still think you’re proper.”

“You’re a dwarf, Bofur. I don’t think you lot have the same standards as they do in Hobbiton.”

“Too bad for them, I says,” the dwarf replied with a grin. Bilbo gave a smile and made to get to his feet. “Oh no you don’t!” the dwarf tugged him back down. “I’m thinking you need yourself a wee bit of shut-eye. And I’m also thinkin’ if you put on that ring of yours and take a kip right here I can keep watch for any elves and wake you if something happens. Aye? Ayyye?” Bilbo stared at him for a long moment. “…Say ‘aye’ laddie,” Bofur prompted, waging his eyebrows, “You won’t regret it.”

The hobbit heaved a sigh and sank down against the bars, curling up against them. “Thank you, Bofur. You really _are_ the best crisis buddy ever.”

“That’s a hobbit! But you gotta say ‘aye’ else it don’t work.”

“ _Aye_. Happy?”

“Not bad, not bad. But put some more feelin’ into it! I’ve gotta _believe_ the ‘aye’.”

“I take it back, you’re the absolute worst crisis buddy ever.”

“Now you’re not even tryin’. Why mister hobbit, I’d never thought you a quitter! Frankly, I’m shocked.”

“Good _night_ Bofur,” Bilbo snuggled down on his side as best he could against the bars, unable to keep the fond smile from his voice. He slipped his ring on and shut his eyes. “ _Dwarves_ , really…”

X|]|[|X

“Baggins,” Thorin snapped when the hobbit padded towards his cell. “What is going on?”

“Not all that much really,” replied Bilbo, leaning tiredly against the wall. “The elves are going all out for their _Feast of Starlight—_ “

“Never mind that!” the dwarf interrupted. “What in Durin’s name is my nephew doing?!”

“Sitting in his cell, I’d expect.”

“I mean what is that musical abomination!?”

 

_‘Cause you’re a sky_

_‘Cause you’re a sky_

_‘Cause you’re a sky full of stars…_

 

“You do realize many people have similar opinions about metal?”

“That’s Kili’s voice!”

 

_I’m gonna give you my heart…_

 

Just the other day a new song was being played across the speakers of the Halls. A song with a surprising new vocalist. That sounded an awful lot like a certain dwarf who just happened to have something of a raging crush on a certain elven DJ. The hobbit wasn’t sure how they had managed it, but he would bet his buttons that Fili was probably smacking his head against the bars somewhere in utter despair.

 

_Cause you light up the path…_

 

“Very astute as always, Mr. Oakenshield,” Bilbo said sharply, patience running dangerously thin under the constant strain of sneaking around and oppressive strobe lights and hunger. Not to mention having the fate of the entire company rest on whether or not he could find a way to spring them all out of these wretched halls.

“Why is Kili’s voice sampled in this… _atrocity?!_ ” Thorin hissed, hands white where they clenched around the bars of his cell. “And with an elf?!”

 

_I don’t care_

_Go on and tear me apart_

_I don’t care if you do…_

 

“Maybe that’s his business,” Bilbo snapped back, rubbing his arm gingerly. Last night he had been knocked over while risking the dance floor to sneak some food from the buffets by two very _involved_ elves, and had landed rather heavily on his side on the floor. Then one of the elves had the audacity to accidentally _step on his arm_ and spill some alarmingly glowing drink all over the hobbit’s poor jacket. Bilbo had managed to scramble away, quickly snatching some kind of pastry from the table before darting away, finding a quiet corner to eat his food and scrub at the glowing stain on his clothes in vain. Needless to say, he was not in a very good mood at all. 

“I am asking _you_.”

“And I am telling you to _stop!_ Do you want me to find a way out of this wretched place or not? Because from the sound of it, I’m supposed to be not only constructing some ingenious escape plan, but also be watching over your nephew 24/7, passing along your messages to the others, find a retrieve everyone’s instruments and equipment and keep up group moral. Well I _beg your pardon_ , but that is not in my contract! You should have hired another wizard not a lawyer—I cannot do everything you utter sod!” The hobbit was all but yelling by the time he had finished his sudden rant, glaring angrily at the stunned dwarf. 

Much to his embarrassment, tears suddenly stung at his eyes, the stress of the last month and a half catching up with him. “Oh, drat it all! Elves and dwarves—confound and confusticate the lot of them!” He turned and scrubbed angrily at his eyes.

 

_Cause in a sky_

_Cause in a sky full of stars_

_I think I saw you…_

 

“Master Baggins?” Thorin’s voice was much softer this time.

“Yes yes, I’m going! Half a moment you cad.”

“Bilbo,” The hobbit shot a glare at the dwarf, angrily rubbing at his eyes and wishing more than ever that was safe at home in his cozy little hole, in his favorite arm chair with a hot mug of tea at his elbow.

“What?”

“Bilbo, I…I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m—beg your pardon?” he stared at the dwarf incredulously. “These dratted lights must be getting to me, I could have sworn _you_ just apologized to _me_. Funny that.”

“I realize you are under a lot of stress.”

“Goodness, I haven’t even saved your life lately and you’re being nice to me! Are you quite sure you’re alright?”

“My treatment of you has not been the best lately.”

“Maybe I’m hallucinating? That must be it.”

“I did not mean to antagonize you.”

“Well, you did,” Bilbo said sharply, glaring at the dwarf. “And I am sick and tired of it,” he slumped, suddenly exhausted. “But mostly I’m just plain tired, and tired of _being_ tired. You shouldn’t have taken your anger out on me, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a state myself.”

They were silent for a time, and Bilbo sat with his back against the wall, Thorin’s cell just to the right of him, needing to sit for a while.

“We will be out of here soon enough,” Thorin said eventually, voice soft. “Thanks to your efforts. There is a human town not too far from here where we can rest for a time and restock our supplies.”

“Thank goodness for that. But you’re assuming everything will go to plan.”

“We dwarves are a hardy folk, Mister Baggins. Even if all you can do is spring us from our cells we will fight our way out. Or perhaps we will follow your example and sneak out using the rave as a distraction.”

“I do hope you’re right. Though I don’t know if I’d trust you lot to be stealthy Not with boots like those in any case.”

X|]|[|X

It was probably the most stupid escape plan in the history of escape plans. But Bilbo was completely, irrevocably done with being stuck in this infernal Hall and sleeping cramped up in small little corners and being tripped over by smashed elves. He was just about beyond caring _how_ , just so long as they got out _now_.

At least, that was what he thought until he had managed to swipe they keys and get everyone out of their cells and into the wine cellar. That was when some of the flaws in his stupid plan began to come to light.

For one, telling a bunch of dwarves to kindly stuff themselves in barrels could only go so well. And then there was trying to convince them that yes this was a good idea and yes they should bloody well do it if they ever wished to be free of this awful place, and yes there would be dire consequences if they did not. Bilbo…may have said some entirely un-Baggins like things. Possibly. 

“Oh, I’m _sorry!_ I hadn’t realized that you demanded first class accommodations! How silly of me not to make sure _everyone_ had campaign and a bloody diamond studded limo to drive us all out of this wretched hole!” he clapped his hands together briskly. “Right, well! Back to your cells then! I’ll lock you all back in nice and snug until I’ve got that all sorted out then, shall I? Valar only know when I’ll next get a chance to steal all the keys—and here I thought you were dwarves on a mission of utmost importance! Ha, what tosh!”

Of course after his little outburst they were all a bit more accommodating, and kindly kept their complaints to a low grumble. It really should not have felt so satisfying to shove the lid of the first barrel over a growling Gloin’s head but it did, oh it _really_ did. Bilbo was beyond the point of propriety, and he’d take what he could when he could get it. Leveling a stern glare at everyone they thankfully took the hint and allowed Bilbo to pack them all in.

 

Just as he had finished successfully shoving away the last of the dwarves in their barrels, a couple of elves entered the cellar. Right on time. The lawyer had studied the schedule of when the barrel exports were due to leave, and there had just so conveniently been one on the night they were due to escape. A large one too. At least 30 barrels were going down the river and once Bilbo was done with them there would be 13 dwarves along for the ride. 

Hands behind his back, the invisible hobbit rocked back on his heels, watching in exhausted satisfaction as the very tipsy elves rounded up the barrels (dwarves included) and rolled them down into the trap door where they fell into the river with a splash. It was a job done well, he could admit to himself now that it was about over. And no loose ends.

It was here that Bilbo Baggins realized the largest flaw in his plan. Or rather the pointedly hobbit-shaped hole in it. 

It is always of utmost importance when planning a daring escape plan for your captive friends, to remember to include _yourself_ in the venture. This was something Bilbo bitterly reflected on as he panicked and ended up jumping after the last of the barrels, toppling down, down into the dark trap door and falling miserably into the frigid water.

And the regrettable fact that he had never learned how to swim.

Yes, he was certainly cursing the day he had ever accepted this ridiculous case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Imrid amrâd ursul" - Die a fiery death.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's stuck around for this embarrassingly slow-updating fic. 
> 
> :}


End file.
